diff options
Diffstat (limited to 'old/53885-8.txt')
| -rw-r--r-- | old/53885-8.txt | 9439 |
1 files changed, 0 insertions, 9439 deletions
diff --git a/old/53885-8.txt b/old/53885-8.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 9418935..0000000 --- a/old/53885-8.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,9439 +0,0 @@ -Project Gutenberg's A Gentleman of Courage, by James Oliver Curwood - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most -other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of -the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - -Title: A Gentleman of Courage - A Novel of the Wilderness - -Author: James Oliver Curwood - -Illustrator: Robert W. Stewart - -Release Date: January 4, 2017 [EBook #53885] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A GENTLEMAN OF COURAGE *** - - - - -Produced by Chris Whitehead, Roger Frank and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This -book was produced from images made available by the -HathiTrust Digital Library.) - - - - - - - - - - _A_ Gentleman _of_ - COURAGE - - - - - _Other Books by_ - JAMES OLIVER CURWOOD - - - The Alaskan - The Country Beyond - The River's End } _A Trilogy of the_ - The Valley of Silent Men } _Three River_ - The Flaming Forest } _Country_ - God's Country, _The Trail to Happiness_ - Baree, Son of Kazan - The Courage of Captain Plum - The Courage of Marge O'Doone - The Danger Trail - Flower of the North - God's Country--and the Woman - The Gold Hunters - The Golden Snare - The Great Lakes - The Grizzly King - The Honor of the Big Snows - The Hunted Woman - Isobel - Kazan - Nomads of the North - Steele of the Royal Mounted - The Wolf Hunters - - - - - [Illustration: Frontispiece--_PETER_ was the same Peter, - but now he was a man] - - - - - _A_ Gentleman _of_ - COURAGE - - _A Novel of the Wilderness_ - - _By_ JAMES OLIVER CURWOOD - - _With Illustrations by Robert W. Stewart_ - - - - - [Illustration] - - - COSMOPOLITAN BOOK CORPORATION - NEW YORK MCMXXIV - - - - - _Copyright, 1923, by International Magazine Company._ - - _Copyright, 1924, by International Magazine Company._ - - _Copyright, 1924, by Cosmopolitan Book Corporation, New - York. All rights reserved, including that of translation into - foreign languages, including the Scandinavian._ - - - _Printed in the United States of America by_ - J. J. LITTLE AND IVES COMPANY, NEW YORK - - - - - _The Illustrations - consist of - A Frontispiece and a Centerspread - reproduced in Color from the - Original Paintings by_ - - ROBERT W. STEWART - - - - -_A_ Gentleman _of_ -COURAGE - - - - -_A_ Gentleman _of_ -COURAGE - - - - -CHAPTER I - - -Pierre Gourdon had the love of God in his heart, a man's love for a -man's God, and it seemed to him that in this golden sunset of a July -afternoon the great Canadian wilderness all about him was whispering -softly the truth of his faith and his creed. For Pierre was the son -of a runner of the streams and forests, as that son's father had been -before him, and love of adventure ran in his blood, and romance, too; -so it was only in the wild and silent places that he felt the soul in -him attuned to that fellowship with nature which the good teachers at -Ste. Anne de Beaupré did not entirely approve. Nature was Pierre's God, -and would ever be until he died. And though he had crept up the holy -stair at Ste. Anne's on his knees, and had touched the consecrated -water from the sacred font, and had looked with awe upon mountains of -canes and crutches left by those who had come afflicted and doubting -and had departed cured and believing, still he was sure that in this -sunset of a certain July afternoon he was nearer to the God he desired -than at any other time in all his life. - -Josette, his wife, slender and tired, her dark head bare in the fading -sun, stood wistful and hoping at his side, praying gently that at last -their long wanderings up the St. Lawrence and along this wilderness -shore of Superior had come to an end, and that they might abide in this -new paradise, and never travel again until the end of their days. - -Back of them, where a little stream ran out of the cool forest, a -tireless boy quested on hands and knees in the ferns and green grass -for wild strawberries, and though strawberry season was late his mouth -was smeared red. - -The man said, pointing down, "It makes one almost think the big lake is -alive, and a hand is reaching in for him." - -"Yes, they are Five Fingers of water reaching in from the lake," agreed -Josette, seating herself wearily upon a big stone, "though it seems to -me there should be only four fingers, and one thumb." - -And so the place came to be named, and through all the years that have -followed since that day it has tenaciously clung to its birthright. - -The boy came to his mother, bringing her strawberries to eat; and -the man, climbing a scarp of rock, made a megaphone of his hands and -hallooed through it until an answering shout came from deep in the -spruces and balsams, and a little later Dominique Beauvais came out to -the edge of the slope, his whiskered face bright with expectancy, and -with him his little wife Marie, panting hard to keep pace with his long -legs. - -When they were together Pierre Gourdon made a wide and all-embracing -sweep with his arms. - -"This will be a good place to live in," he said. "It is what we have -been looking for." - -With enthusiasm Dominique agreed. The women smiled. Again they were -happy. The boy was hunting for strawberries. He was always empty, this -boy. - -Pierre Gourdon kissed his wife's smooth hair as they went back to the -camp they had made two hours earlier in the day, and broke into a wild -boat song which his grandfather had taught him on his knee in the -wicked days before he had known Josette at Ste. Anne, and Dominique -joined in heartily through his whiskers. - -The women's smiles were sweeter and their eyes brighter, for fatigue -seemed to have run away from them now that their questing men-folk were -satisfied and had given them a promise of home. - -That night, after supper, with their green birch camp-fire lighting -up the blackness of the wilderness, they sat and made plans, and long -after nine-year-old Joe had crawled into his blanket to sleep, and the -women's eyes were growing soft with drowsiness, Pierre and Dominique -continued to smoke pipefuls of tobacco and to build over and over the -homes of their dreams. - -Young and happy, and overflowing with the adventurous enthusiasm of the -race of _coureurs_ from which they had sprung, they saw themselves with -the rising of another sun pitched into the heart of realities which -they had anticipated for a long time; and when at last Josette fell -asleep, her head pillowed close to her boy's, her red lips that had -not lost their prettiness through motherhood and wandering were tender -with a new peace and contentment. And a little later, while Pierre and -Dominique still smoked and painted their futures, the moon rose over -the forest-tops in a great golden welcome to the pioneers, and the wind -came in softly and more coolly from the lake, and at the last, from far -away, rose faintly a wilderness note that thrilled them--the cry of -wolves. - -Dominique listened, and silently emptied the ash from his pipe into the -palm of his hand. - -"Where wolves run there is plenty of game, and where there is game -there is trapping," he said. - -And then came a sound which stopped the hearts of both for an instant, -a deep and murmuring echo, faint and very far, that broke in a note of -strange and vital music upon the stillness of the night. - -"A ship!" whispered Pierre. - -"Yes, a ship!" repeated Dominique, half rising to catch the last of the -sound. - -For this was a night of forty years ago, when on the north shore of -Superior the cry of wolves in the forest was commoner than the blast of -a ship's whistle at sea. - -The pioneers slept. The yellow moon climbed up until it was straight -overhead. Shadows in the deep forest moved like living things. The -wolves howled, circled, came nearer, and stopped their cry where -the kill was made. Mellow darkness trembled and thrilled with life. -Silent-winged creatures came and disappeared like ghosts. Bright eyes -watched the sleeping camp of the home seekers. A porcupine waddled -through it, chuckling and complaining in his foolish way. A buck caught -the scent of it, stamped his foot and whistled. There were whisperings -in the tall, dark spruce tops. - -Caverns of darkness gave out velvety footfalls of life, and little -birds that were silent in the day uttered their notes softly in the -moon glow. - -A bar of this light lay across Josette's face, softening it and giving -to its beauty a touch of something divine. The boy was dreaming. Pierre -slept with his head pillowed in the crook of his arm. Dominique's -whiskers were turned to the sky, bristling and fierce, as if he had -taken this posture to guard against harm the tired little wife who lay -at his side. - -So the night passed, and dawn came, wakening them with the morning -chatter of a multitude of red squirrels in a little corner of the -world as yet unspoiled by man. - - * * * * * - -That first day from which they began to measure their new lives the -axes of Pierre and Dominique struck deep into the sweetly scented -hearts of the cedar trees out of which they were to build their -homes at Five Fingers. But first they looked more carefully into the -prospects of their domain. - -The forest was back of them, a forest of high ridges and craggy -ravines, of hidden meadows and swamps, a picturesque upheaval of -wild country which reached for many miles from the Superior shore -to the thin strip of settlement lands along the Canadian Pacific. -Black and green and purple with its balsam, cedar and spruce, silver -and gold with its poplar and birch, splashed red with mountain ash, -its climbing billows and dripping hollows were radiantly tinted by -midsummer sun--and darkly sullen and mysterious under cloud or storm. -Out of these fastnesses, choked with ice and snow in winter, Pierre -knew how the floods must come roaring in springtime, and his heart beat -exultantly, for he loved the rush and thunder of streams, and the music -of water among rocks. - -At the tip of the longest of the five inlets which broke like gouging -fingers through the rock walls of the lake half a mile away they -decided upon the sites for their cabins. Against those walls they -could hear faintly the moaning of surf, never quite still even when -there was no whisper of wind. But the long finger of water, narrow and -twisted, as if broken at the joint, was a placid pool of green and -silver over which the gulls floated, calling out their soft notes in -welcome to the home builders, and in its white sand were the prints -of many feet, both of birds and of beasts, who played and washed -themselves there, and came down to drink. Between these two, the open -and peaceful serenity of the inlet and the cool, still hiding-places of -the forest, were the green meadowland and slopes and patches of level -plain, a narrow strip of park-like beauty at the upper edge of which, -in the very shadow of the forest, Pierre and Dominique struck off their -plots and squared their angles, making ready for the logs in which the -afternoon saw their axes buried. - -The days passed. Each dawn the red squirrel chorus greeted the rising -sun; through hours that followed came the ring of steel and the -freedom of voice which is born of love and home. Pierre sang, as his -grandfather had sung long years ago, and Dominique bellowed like a -baying hound when the chorus came. Women's laughter rose with the -singing of the birds. Josette and Marie were girls again, and the boy -was forever leading them to newly discovered strawberry patches hidden -among the rocks and grass and ferns. - -It was a new thing for the wilderness, this invasion of human life, -and for a long time it fell away from them, listening, frightened and -subdued. But the birds and the red squirrels gave it courage, and -softly it returned, curious and shy and friendly. The deer came down to -drink again in the dusk, and moose rattled their antlers up the ridge. -Pop-eyed whisky jacks began to eat bannock crumbs close to Josette's -hands. Jays came nearer to scream their defiance, like wild Indians, in -the tree-tops, and thrushes and warblers sang until their throats were -ready to burst, and twenty times a day Pierre would pause in his labor -and say, "This is going to be a fine place to live in, with the sea at -our front door and the woods at our back." - -He called Superior "the sea," and twice in the first week they saw far -out in its hazy vastness white and shimmering specks which were sailing -ships. - -Log upon log the first of the cabins rose, until the roof was covered, -and scarcely was it done when Josette and Marie were planting wild -morning glories and crimson splashes of roses about it, and were -digging in the dark, cool mold of birch and poplar thickets for violet -roots, and out in the sheltered fens and meadow-dips for hyacinths and -fire-flowers; and in the hour before dusk, when the day's work was over -and supper was eaten, they would go hand in hand with their men-folk to -study and ponder over the fertile patches of earth here and there where -next spring they would plant potatoes and carrots and turnips and all -the other fine things they had known back in the land of Ste. Anne. - -It was August when the two cabins were finished, small in dimensions -but snug as dovecotes, and in the eyes of Josette and Marie grew a -deeper and more serious look. For they were housewives again, with -little to do with, but with a world full of endeavor and anticipation -ahead of them. And it worried them to see that the fruits were -ripening, red raspberries so thick the bears were turning into hulks of -fat, black currants and saskatoons among the rocks, and all over the -ridgesides great trees of wild plums and mountain ash berries, waiting -for the first frosts to make them ready for preserves and jams. - -So Dominique, one day, set out to blaze a trail to the nearest -settlement, thirty miles away; and thereafter their men-folk took -turns, one and then the other, going with empty pack and returning with -sixty pounds of burden, and berries were put into cans and dried and -preserved--until Pierre and Dominique began to tease their wives and -ask them if they wanted their husbands to turn into bears and sleep -on their fat all winter. It was this banter which reminded Josette -of candles, and in September they killed two bears and made several -hundred of them. - -With the first frosts of autumn Pierre said even more frequently than -before, "This is a fine place to live in," and Josette and Marie, -seeing what the frosts were doing, rose each morning with new wonder -and new joy in their eyes. For if these frosts were giving to the -waters of the lake a colder and harder sheen, with something of menace -and gloom about it, they were also painting the ridges and hollows and -all the forest land as far as they could see with a glory of color -which they had never known at Ste. Anne. - -Breath of winter came in the nights. Higher grew the great birch piles -of firewood which Pierre and Dominique dragged close to the cabin -doors, and very soon came the days when the carnival of autumn color -was gone and all but the evergreen trees assumed the ragged distress -of naked limbs and branches, and winds broke down fiercely over the -wilderness, and the moan of the lake, beating against its rock walls, -grew clearer and at times was a muffled and sullen roar half a mile -away. - -But these changes were not frightening to Pierre and his people. -Canadian winter was, after all, the heart of their lives; long months -of adventure and thrill of deep snows and stinging blizzards on the -trap lines, of red-hot stoves, and snug evenings at home telling the -tales of the day, and appetites as keen as the winds that howled down -from the north. - -This season, of all seasons, they would not have changed. It was then -the wolf howl took on a new note, the foxes cried out hungrily at -the edge of the clearing in the night. The call of the moose floated -awesomely through the frost of still evenings, and the bears hunted -their dens. One after another songbirds departed, leaving the whisky -jacks and the jays behind, and the ravens gathered in flocks, while in -the thickets and swamps the big snowshoe rabbits turned from brown -to gray and from gray to white. All hunting things were astir, from -the wolf and the fox and the little outlaw ermine to the owl and the -dog-faced fisher-cat, and in November Pierre and Dominique dipped their -traps in hot bear grease and prayed for the first snow. - -It came in the night, so quietly that none heard the breathless fall -of it, and the world was white when little Joe got out of his bed at -dawn to look at his rabbit snares in the edge of the timber. That was -the beginning of their first winter at Five Fingers. It was a cold, dry -winter, and there was never a day that a haunch of venison or moose -meat was not hanging behind the cabins. Trapping was good, and the -store of pelts grew as the weeks went on, until Pierre and Dominique -both swore in the same breath that it was a paradise that they had -found on this north shore of Superior, and each day they made new -promises of what they would buy for Josette and Marie in the spring. -The snow piled itself deeper, and the lake froze over. In January it -was thirty degrees below zero. - -The white world, Josette called it, and at times they all played in it -like children. There was Christmas, and then New Year's, and a birthday -for Marie, and games and stories at night round the crackling stoves in -the cabins. Pierre and Dominique built toboggans, and from the crest of -the ridge where they had first looked down upon the Five Fingers they -sped in wild races over the open and halfway across the snow-crusted -ice of the middle finger. And yet when Dominique came in one day and -said quite casually that he had heard the chirp of a brush warbler back -in the big swamp Marie gave a little cry of delight and Josette's eyes -grew suddenly bright. - -It meant spring. A day or two later Pierre said the coats of the -snowshoe rabbits were turning rusty, which meant early spring. Then -came discovery of the first bear track, the track of a foolish bear who -had come out hungrily, like a woodchuck, only to hunt himself a den -again when he saw his shadow freezing in the snow. After this there was -more sun in the morning and less of the cold of sullen twilight each -night, and before even the crust of the snow had begun to thaw Pierre -brought in a poplar twig to show how the buds were swelling until they -seemed ready to pop. "I have never seen them fatter," he said. "It -means spring isn't far away." - -When the first robin came Josette told her husband she could already -smell the perfume of flowers. He was a cold-footed and crabbed-looking -bird, forlorn and disappointed at the world's chill aspect, and for a -few minutes he sat humped up on the roof log and then flew away. - -This was the beginning. The snow began to thaw on the sunny sides -of the slopes, and after that the change came swiftly. In April a -steady and swelling murmur ran through the forests, the music of the -gathering waters. Meadows and flats became flooded, little creeks -changed suddenly into rushing torrents, lakes and ponds crept up over -their sides, and the tiny stream which passed near the cabins, quiet -and gentle in summertime, was all at once a riotous and quarrelsome -outlaw, roaring and foaming in its mad rush down to the Middle Finger. -Half a mile away was a larger stream whose flood sounds came to them -like the distant roar of a cataract. It was glorious music, with -something in it that stirred the blood of Pierre and his people like -tonic and wine. Pierre, in his optimism and love of life, explained -it all by saying, "It is good to have a long, cold winter that we may -fully enjoy the spring." - -The birds seemed to return in a night and a day--robins perky and glad -to get back from the lazy southland, thrushes and catbirds and a dozen -kinds of little brown warblers and brush sparrows whose voices were -sweetest of all the spring songsters. The earth itself began to breathe -with swelling roots and tips of green; the first flowers popped up; the -poplar buds exploded into fuzzy leaves, and Pierre and Dominique worked -from morning until night, clearing the patches they were to plant this -year, and spading up the rich, dark soil. - -It was about this time Pierre gave voice to a thought which had been -growing in his head all winter. He was standing with Josette at the tip -of the green ridge from which they had first looked down upon Five -Fingers. - -"Ste. Anne was never as fine as this, _chérie_," he said. - -"No, not even before the woods were cut," agreed Josette. - -He took her hand and held it softly in his own, and Josette laid her -cheek against his shoulder so that his lips could touch her smooth -hair. Pierre always liked it that way. - -"I have been having a dream," he said, his voice a little queer because -of its secret, and because he knew how its confession would thrill the -one at his side, "and I have said nothing about it, but have done much -thinking. Would not a little church look pretty down there, just where -the tip of the evergreen forest reaches to the Middle Finger?" - -"A church!" whispered Josette, her heart giving a sudden swift beat. - -"Yes, a church," chuckled Pierre softly. "And over there, in that -green bit of meadow--what a place for a home for our old friend Poleon -Dufresne, and Sara, and all the children. And there is room for the -Clamarts, too, and Jean Croisset and his wife. It is a big land, with -plenty of fur and game and good rich soil underfoot, and I have thought -it is not right to keep it all to ourselves, _douce amie_." - -From the door of her cabin some distance away Marie Beauvais wondered -just why it was that Josette threw her arms so suddenly round her -husband's neck and kissed him. And Pierre, with a heart full of -happiness, little guessed that with the fulfilment of his dreams would -come tragedy into the wilderness paradise at Five Fingers. - - - - -CHAPTER II - - -It was five years later that Simon McQuarrie and Herman Vogelaar came -to Five Fingers. They were a queer but lovable combination. Simon -was a Scotchman, tall and spare, with a thin face which seldom broke -into a smile and which had the appearance of being made of flint. His -companion was a Dutchman, short and round as a dumpling, with a pink, -smooth face, light blue eyes and a great habit of puffing when he -exerted himself a little, which came, Simon said, from overeating. They -had been boys together more than thirty years ago in a little Ontario -town, and now they were partners, timber-looking, prospecting and -bartering and saving a little money as the years went on. Herman was a -widower, and his only daughter, Geertruda, had married Jeremie Poulin -back in Quebec, and Jeremie was a cousin of the Clamarts and lived now -at Five Fingers. It was Herman's first visit. He had come to see the -new baby and had brought Simon along with him. - -The instant Simon's shrewd eyes came upon the clearing and the little -settlement, with the fingers of water reaching in from the big lake, he -began having thoughts which he did not at once announce to Herman. - -The years had brought changes to Five Fingers. The single-room cabins -which Pierre and Dominique had built were gone, and in their places -stood larger buildings of clean-cut and nicely squared logs, with -flowers and garden plots around them, and rows of smooth stones painted -white. Josette, now almost forty, was still slim and pretty, and Pierre -was more than ever her lover, in spite of a great disappointment which -he kept shut up in his own heart. He wanted children. His love for them -was a passion, but for him stalwart young Joe, now fourteen years old, -was the first and the last. Pierre had implicit faith in prayer, and -ever since that first summer at Five Fingers he had prayed devoutly -that God might send more children. - -And God answered, though somewhere there was a slip that puzzled -Pierre, for the more he prayed the more children came to Dominique and -Marie. First there was a pair of them, Louis and Julie, then three -singles as regularly as could be--Aimé and Félipe and Dominique--and -with each one of them Marie grew plumper and jollier and began questing -about in her head for a name to be given the next. - -But Pierre was happy, for if they were not entirely his own there were -at least children all about him. Poleon and Sara Dufresne had come with -three children and had built their cabin a stone's throw away; Jeremie -and Geertruda had a baby, and at the edge of the green bit of meadow -which he had pointed out to Josette five years ago were the homes of -Jean Croisset and Telesphore Clamart, and Aleck Clamart was courting -Anne Croisset. With Pierre he was secretly making plans for a home the -following year, after one more season of trapping. - -And right at the tip of the evergreen forest, where Pierre had -promised, was the little log church in which they gathered each Sunday, -and to which Father Albanel, a wandering minister of the forests, came -once and sometimes twice a month. - -As the population had grown, so had the clearing expanded. There were -a good dozen acres or more under careful tillage, and in the open were -cattle and several horses, and in every wild meadow for miles about a -stack of harvested hay in season. There were chickens and geese and a -community flock of turkeys, and at all seasons plenty of eggs and milk -and cream and the sweet butter, and the dug-out cellars were filled -to the brim with good things to eat when the first cold blasts of -winter came. Pierre and Aleck had built a boat, and the six families -had combined in the purchase of two nets, so there was no lack of fish -either winter or summer at Five Fingers. - -For two winters, much against his desire, young Joe had been sent back -over the new Canadian Pacific to attend school at Ste. Anne. - -Simon McQuarrie made note of all these things with the judgment of a -fox and the keenness of a weasel. No one would have judged Simon for -what he really was, at least not on short acquaintance. In him was a -heart so honest he would have cut off a little finger before taking a -mean advantage of any other man or woman. But, as Herman put it, he was -always looking around to see what he could pick up. Herman furnished -the laughter, the jollity, the never-ending good humor and four-fifths -of the stomach of the partnership, and Simon was the ferret who smelled -out the dollars; so when Simon said one day, "I never knew a better -place than this for a little mill, Herman," the proud grandfather of -baby Tobina knew something was in the air. - -First of all, with his native shrewdness, Simon took stock of the -happiness at Five Fingers. This contentment, the community affection -which brought all together like members of one family, was a big asset -in the very beginning. The mill itself could be made a sort of family -affair, and a boat arranged for twice or three times a year to run up -from Duluth or Fort William and carry away the lumber. There was enough -fine birch and cedar and spruce right about them to keep going for -years, and the mill would bring even greater prosperity than trapping, -which was sure to wear out now that the settlements were filling up -rapidly along the line of the railroad. - -At last he talked over the matter with Pierre, and Pierre called in -Dominique, and there was a meeting of all the men-folk of the families -at which it was agreed nothing could be finer for Five Fingers than a -mill. Simon promised the first thing to be made from its lumber should -be a schoolhouse, and they would have to see to it the schoolhouse had -a teacher, for if Dominique and Jeremie and Poleon kept up the pace -they were going there surely must be teaching at Five Fingers. - -This was on Saturday. The next day Father Albanel came, a little, -gray-haired, rosy-cheeked man who loved life and all living things, and -who had no settled church because he saw in nature a greater God than -he had ever been able to find in the Book written by man, a freedom of -thought which had been labeled heresy by those who traveled the old -and unchangeable paths. But Father Albanel was loved by every man, -woman and child who knew him, and while his stricter brethren chanted -and prayed in their vaulted cathedrals and little mission houses, his -Church was ten thousand square miles of forest land. And on this Sunday -Father Albanel prayed that Simon McQuarrie might be able to keep his -promises. - -So the mill came. There was not much to it, but when on a certain -September afternoon a tug and a scow came creeping up the middle inlet -every soul in Five Fingers was down to meet them, and every heart was -beating with the biggest excitement that had ever come into the lives -of Pierre and his people. With the tug came Simon McQuarrie, proud as -an admiral in command of a fleet, and with him a Norwegian engineer and -his wife, two mill-hands, and a sallow-faced, anemic-looking young man -who was to teach Jeremie Poulin's children and Dominique's kindergarten -during the winter for fifteen dollars a month and board. - -The mill was set up, with only pieces of tarpaulin for roof at first. -Axes rang merrily in the woods, and the three horses at Five Fingers -dragged in the logs at the ends of chains. Even the women were excited, -and the children waited eagerly for the set day when smoke would pour -from the tall boiler stack and the saws would begin to hum and grind. -This happened on the fifth day, and when at last steam was up, and the -long belt began to turn, and the big, shining saw to whirl, there rose -a great hurrah, and even Baby Tobina waved her tiny fists and crowed as -loudly as she could. Then the sharp teeth of the saw touched the end -of the first log, and there came the first of that beautiful, droning -song--the song of live steel cutting through sweet wood--which was to -last for many years at Five Fingers, and which may be heard at times to -this very day. - -No one, not even his sweetheart wife, Josette, was permitted to look -deeply and completely into the heart of Pierre. As time passed he saw -his beloved forest dragged in, a log at a time, to be cut into pieces -by that droning, merciless saw. He watched the life's blood of the -timber pile up in great golden heaps of sweet-smelling sawdust in which -the growing children loved to play, and down on the shore he saw his -wilderness garnered in huge piles of boards, waiting for the little -black tugs to come in and drag them away. He knew that it was all as -it should be, for new prosperity came with the mill, more comforts and -happiness for the women and children, and a few more people to Five -Fingers. This was progress. Yet an ache was in his heart which he kept -to himself, and which would never quite die away. For with a passion -next to his love for children he loved his forests, and with him every -tree was a word of God. - -Yet he would not have changed conditions, for he knew it was himself -who was wrong. Everything told him that. Even the wild things seemed -to love this more intimate companionship with man, for the birds and -squirrels were never more numerous about Five Fingers. They sang and -chattered with the music of the mill, ran over the roofs of the houses -and built their nests under the eaves, and in winter came to the very -doorsteps to eat crumbs and grain thrown out for them. It was Pierre -whose word was unwritten law at Five Fingers. One of his laws was that -no living thing that was not a pest should ever be harmed near the -settlement, and when ice and snow were heavy in the hills and between -the ridges deer came out shyly to eat with the cattle. - -Pierre went no more on the trap line but attended to the business of -the mill, and Josette pleased him by saying this made her happiness -complete. In spare hours one could always find children about him, and -in the evenings, when the droning of the mill saw had ceased, there -were games and races and fun among the sawdust piles, and never a day -passed that the home of Pierre and Josette was not filled with childish -laughter and the patter of little feet, although the little girl they -prayed for never came to bear their name. "But she will," said Pierre, -keeping up that undying hope in his heart. "Some day, my Josette, there -will come a little girl to be a sister to Joe." - -Even Joe, his one child, seemed to be getting farther away from him, -for as time passed the boy needed no urging to return to Ste. Anne, -but was restless and ill at ease when back home from school, and was -excited when the day drew near that would take him from Five Fingers -again. He was eighteen when Josette learned his secret, and she laughed -softly, and kissed him, and told Pierre so that he would not worry any -more. The girl was none other than Marie Antoinette, the beautiful -little daughter of Jacques Thiebout, whom they had known years ago on -the St. Lawrence. She was a year younger than Joe, and had told him he -must wait until she had finished completely with the school of Ste. -Anne de la Perade, for that was her ambition, and her father's, too. -Then she would come with him to Five Fingers. - -Tears of joy filled Pierre's eyes the night Josette whispered the -secret to him, for if the little girl they both wanted persisted in not -coming they would at least have grandsons and granddaughters to make up -for it. - -"And it may be this is the answer to my prayers," Pierre said to -himself. "For Joe's children will be of our own flesh and blood, and -we shall love Marie Antoinette as our own. And as Joe is younger and -stronger than Dominique, who is growing fat, I do not see why he should -fall behind him in the matter of family." - -Few changes came to Five Fingers as the years rolled on. The little -mill continued to hum and the axes to ring farther and farther back in -the forest, and twice or three times in a season the boat came up with -loads of supplies and carried away the lumber. - -Not a single year did the stork fail to build his nest somewhere about -the sawdust piles. Twice he visited Aleck Clamart, who married Anne -Croisset; two little Dutchmen he brought to Geertruda Poulin, and there -were nine pairs of feet to shoe in the home of Dominique and Marie when -young Joe Gourdon brought Marie Antoinette to Five Fingers as his wife. - -The mill did not run that day, for it was a day of feasting and -rejoicing, and all the world held no prouder monarch than Joe. Marie -Antoinette, tall and slim, with her great dark eyes, her glad smile and -her outreaching arms of love for the people who had now become her own, -was as sweet and beautiful as his mother had been in the days of her -youth. And Pierre, in his joy, found in her a rival, for the children -gathered round her in dumb worship, and in her pretty arms Marie -Antoinette gathered every one, kissing each in turn, even to bashful -Louis, the eldest son of Dominique. And when, in their cabin, she flung -those same pretty arms around Josette's neck and called her Mother, -Pierre winked hard and went outside to puff at his pipe, for he felt -like a boy who wanted to cry. - -God had been good to him. God had blessed Five Fingers. In the going -down of the sun his eyes rested upon a green slope where no plow had -touched and no cabin had been built. Religiously that sacred little -plot had been held for the time when death might find its way among -them. And death had not come. Gratitude welled up in Pierre's heart -and choked him--gratitude and pride and faith, for all this was the -handiwork of the great and good God he believed in, the God of his -forests, the open, the sun and the sky. And the thought came to him -that when at last there was a break in the little green slope it was -only right that he should be the first to go, for God had filled his -measure to the brim, and it seemed to him he could hear the whisper of -a message from the violets and red roses of that little knoll in the -setting of the sun. - -Marie Antoinette, coming to him so quietly he did not hear, put her -little hand in his and whispered, "It is beautiful here, my father!" - - - - -CHAPTER III - - -As long as men remain to tell the story of the Inland Seas the great -autumn storm of 1900 will not be forgotten. It has been set down as -a matter of history, and a hundred tales could be told of the ships -that went down and the men who died in those days when the Five Lakes -were like five mighty churns, whipping and tossing their waters in -maelstroms of destruction. - -It was not cold. A part of the time the sun shone brightly, and back -in the woods from the Superior shore birds sang, and flowers still -bloomed. To Pierre and his people this was of strange and mysterious -portent, for though they had seen many storms at Five Fingers there had -never been one like this, with that terrific roar of enraged waters -against rock walls and birds preening themselves and chirping in the -sunshine of the forest. - -On the second day Pierre took Josette and Marie Antoinette down to the -tip of the wooded peninsula that lay between the Second and Middle -Finger that they might see the lake as they had never seen it before. -It was fun for the women. The wind choked them at times, and they had -to scream to be heard, and it whipped their long hair loose until -they were like panting naiads, clinging to Pierre's hands, their eyes -shining and their hearts thrilled with the excitement of the adventure. -Pierre, laughing, told Josette she was as lovely as a girl with her -shining hair all about her in a windblown tangle and her cheeks as pink -and soft as Marie Antoinette's. But he was only half heard, for the -seas were roaring among the rocks below them like the steady thunder of -countless guns. - -When they came out of the last rim of sheltering spruce and looked -beyond the black and dripping rampart of rock that held back the raging -waters Josette clung to him in sudden fear, and Marie Antoinette gave a -cry that cut like a knife above the wind. - -Pierre's heart went dead and still as he stared gray-faced out to sea. -There was a twist on his lips where laughter suddenly died. - -Out from the shore lay an entanglement of reef and rock, jutting up -like great heads of sea-monsters in the quiet and calm of summer, a -resting-place for gulls, and strangely quiet and beautiful at times -when the water rippled between them in wide paths of green silver. -Through this network of waiting traps ran the channel in which the tug -made her way to and from the Middle Finger. But there was no channel -today. It was lost in a fury of thundering flood, lashing itself into -ribbons, and among the rocks, half a mile from where Pierre and his -women stood, a ship was beating herself to pieces. - -In his first moment of horror Pierre knew they had come just in time -to see the end. She was a schooner of possibly three hundred tons, and -had plunged broadside upon the long, low reef which Josette herself had -named the Dragon because of the jagged teeth of rock which rose from -it like the spines of a huge fin. Her tall masts were gone. A mass of -wreckage tangled her deck, and Pierre fancied that even above the roar -of the surf he could hear the crash of her rending timbers as she rose -and fell in mighty sledge-hammer blows upon the reef. As he waited, -struck dumb with horror, the vessel was raised half out of the sea, -and when she fell back her stern split asunder and the foaming water -engulfed her until only her bow was held up by the projecting spines of -the Dragon. - -Marie Antoinette cried out again, and her face was waxlike in its fear -and horror, for very clearly in that moment they saw a moving figure in -the bow of the ship. In an instant the figure was inundated and gone. - -Life leaped back into Pierre. - -"If any live they may sweep into this pit of the Middle Finger," he -shouted. "We must help them." Then he turned to Marie Antoinette and -placed his mouth close to her ear. "Go back," he cried. "Go back and -bring help as swiftly as you can!" - -Scarcely were the words spoken when Marie Antoinette was gone with the -quickness of a bird, her long hair streaming about her like a veil as -she ran. Pierre looked at Josette. She was not frightened now. Her -face was white and calm and her eyes were pools of steady fire. She was -looking on death. She could almost hear the cries of death. Her glance -met Pierre's, and her lips moved, but he did not hear her words. It was -then, looking again toward what little remained of the schooner, that -they saw something sweeping in toward them among the nearer reefs. It -came swiftly, now almost submerged, then popping up for an instant, and -was swept at last upon a rock where the waters split like a mill race -at the very edge of the smoother sea that ran through the mouth of the -Middle Finger. - -"It is a raft," shouted Pierre, "and someone is on it!" - -Josette's cry rose shrill and piercing: - -"_It is a woman!_" - -They could see the figure flung upon the rock, with a hand clutching -at its slippery sides, and Pierre's breath came in a sudden gasp of -despair when he saw it was a woman. Her face was a ghost's face in the -surf mist, and her drenched hair streamed upon the rock as the water -ebbed away. She seemed to see them as they stood at the cliff edge, and -Pierre thought he heard her voice rise faintly above the thunder of the -water, crying out for her life. - -He turned and ran to a ragged break in the cliff and climbed down -swiftly to the narrow shore line at the edge of the Finger, shouting -for Josette to remain where she was. But Josette was close behind -him when he began tearing off his clothes. She was terribly white. -Blood streaked one of her soft cheeks where she had stumbled against a -sharp-edged rock coming down. But her eyes were filled with a strange -and unchanging fire, and she fell upon her knees among the stones to -unlace one of Pierre's boots while he freed himself of the other. She -looked up at him. A glory of strength shone in her face even as her -heart was breaking in its agony. For she knew that Pierre Gourdon, her -husband, was going into the pit of death; and she tried to smile, and -Pierre kissed her lips swiftly and sprang into the sea. - -She stood up straight and watched him as he fought his way through the -shore surf toward the seething maelstrom where the woman lay upon the -rock. Josette could see her clearly. She could see the water and white -spume leaping up about her, reaching for her, thrusting her up and -then dragging her back, and almost she prayed that God would take her -and cover her completely with the sea so that Pierre might turn back. -For a little her courage left her and she called wildly upon Pierre to -return, telling him she was his wife and that the woman on the rock was -nothing to him. And then the woman who was fighting for her life seemed -to look into the eyes of Josette through the distance that separated -them--and Josette held out her arms and cried encouragement to her. - -All sound but the roar of water was lost to Pierre. He was swimming -now, and a hundred forces dragged at his body, beating him one way and -then the other, while with all his strength he fought to keep himself -in the right direction. He knew what it meant to be carried beyond the -rock into that deadly place which they called the Pit. There he would -die. He would be pulled down by the undertows, and a little later, when -they were done with him, his body would be thrown up at the foot of the -cliff. The thought did not fill him with fear. It gave him strength to -know Josette was watching him in this struggle against death, and that -she was praying for him--and for the woman on the rock. - -Only Josette and the other woman could measure the eternity of time -it took him to win the fight. In the last moment a mighty hand seemed -to gather him in its palm and sweep him up to the rock, and he found -himself clinging to it, facing the woman. She was as white as he had -seen Josette. Her eyes were as dark, and there was something in them -that was more terrible to look at than fear. Pierre was exhausted. -He drew himself up a few inches at a time, trying to smile the -encouragement he could not speak. His eyes reached the level of the -rock, and he looked over and down--and saw then what it was the woman -was holding in the crook of her arm. - -It was a little girl, six or seven years old, and forgetting in his -amazement the thundering menace of the sea Pierre thought that in all -his life he had never seen anything so beautiful as this child. She was -not hurt. Her eyes were wide open--great, dark eyes that were velvety -pools of terror--and her face, lovely as an angel's, looked at him -from a mass of jet-black hair that dripped with water and clung about -her neck and shoulders like silken strands of seaweed. It was as if a -vision had crept up from the foaming surf to taunt him, a vision of a -face he had painted in his dreams and had prayed for and hoped for all -through the years of his life, and he dashed the water from his eyes -to see more clearly. Then he reached down and drew the child to him -and held her fragile, slim little body in his arms. The woman's face -changed then. Its fierce resolution died out. She became suddenly limp, -and seeing her weakness Pierre caught hold of her so that the surf -would not beat her from the rock. - -"I will get you ashore," he shouted. "You must not give up! You must -hold to the rock!" - -He bent his face to the child's. - -"And you----" - -She lay against his breast. Her eyes were looking up at him steadily, -and words choked in Pierre's throat. Those eyes, it seemed to him, were -too beautiful for a child's eyes. Her lips were still red. But her face -was the color of a white cameo in its frame of wonderful black hair, -and the thought came to him again that it was an angel the storm had -blown in from the sea. - -The woman was drawing herself up beside him. Another wave broke against -the rock, smothering them in its surf. Out of it came her voice. - -"I am Mona Guyon," she cried, so close that her head touched his -shoulder. "This is my baby. Her father--went down--there--beside the -rock--a few minutes ago. Take her ashore----" - -A roaring flood inundated them. When it was gone Pierre drew in a deep -breath. - -"You must hold to the rock," he shouted again. "I will come back for -you. It will be easy--easy for all of us to get ashore--if you will -hold to the rock!" - -When the roar of the surf died away for a moment he told the child what -to do. She must put her arms round his neck and ride ashore on his -back and draw in deep breaths whenever her face was out of the water. -They would swim to the shore very quickly, and then he would come back -for mother. He even laughed as he told her how safely and quickly it -could be done. And then he kissed her; there on the rock Pierre Gourdon -kissed the soft little mouth he had prayed for so many years, and bowed -his head a moment, asking God to help him. Then he lay flat on his face -and drew her into just the right place on his back, and when her arms -were round his neck he tied her hands tightly together under his chin -with a strip which he had torn from his shirt. She could not get away -after that. They would go ashore together, one way or the other. - -Slowly he lowered himself over the slippery lee of the rock, and -again he smiled at Mona Guyon. The hour of his Calvary had come, -and his heart beat fiercely with the strength of two praying women -as he slipped into the sea with his precious burden. The twisting -undercurrents reached out like the tentacles of an octopus and tried -to drag him into the doom of the Pit. But it was not Pierre Gourdon -alone who was fighting for the right to live. The woman on the rock was -fighting for him, and the woman ashore--standing to her waist in the -boiling surf--no longer had heart or soul or strength of body, for all -had gone to him; and about his neck were the arms of a child that gave -to him the courage, not only of those who loved and prayed, but of the -good God who had called upon him to play his part in this day and hour. - -So he fought, and won at last to the place where his beloved Josette -reached out and caught him and helped him to the stony shore, where he -sank down weakly, with the child in his arms and her face looking up -at him from his breast. He had kept her above the water--that had been -the never faltering thought in his mind; and now there seemed to be -something of awe, of reverence, of unspoken worship in those strangely -beautiful eyes of l'Ange, as Pierre called her in his heart, and -suddenly her arms tightened round his neck and with a little cry she -kissed him. - -Then she was in Josette's arms, and Pierre rose to his feet. - -A sudden dread swept over him as he looked out at the rock again. It -seemed to him the seas were higher, and the woman was not as he had -left her. Her face was down, she was limp, a dark blot without life or -resistance, and he saw a huge wave drive up and move her like a sodden -chip a little nearer to the edge of the Pit. She was not _holding on_, -as he had prayed God she would! A few more waves like that last one, a -taller crest, an angrier thrust from the sea--and she would go. - -He turned to Josette. She was on her knees among the sharp stones with -her arms about the child, and both she and little Mona were looking -up at him, waiting, knowing that only Pierre Gourdon was master of -himself and of life and death in this hour. He had never seen such eyes -as theirs--Josette's in their agony of fear for him, little Mona's so -strangely, gloriously beautiful, saying more to him in their childish -terror and entreaty than human lips could have spoken. - -"I am going back," he said. "It will be easy this time!" - -They heard him above the smashing fury of the Pit, and Pierre, catching -an unknown note in his own voice, knew that he was lying. As he faced -the beat of the sea he made as if he did not hear Josette calling -wildly to him that help would surely come in a few minutes, and he must -wait. A few minutes and it would be over, for he could see that with -each thrust of the frothing surf over the crest of the rock the woman -was a little nearer to death. - -It was a harder fight this time. At least it seemed so to Pierre, for -the old strength was no longer in his limbs, and something seemed to -have gone out of his heart. If he could reach the rock, just reach it -and cling to it and hold the woman until Marie Antoinette's message -brought the men! That was all he prayed for now, all he hoped for. It -was inconceivable for his imagination to go beyond those things--the -rock, the woman, a jutting tooth of reef to hang to for their lives. He -could feel death all about him as he fought and swam. It struck at him, -choked him, blinded him, dragged at his breath until it seemed as if he -must give up and go riding with it into the maelstroms of the Pit. It -laughed and jeered at him and roared in his ears, but through it all he -saw the rock, and at last the same strange current caught him with the -force of a gargantuan hand and flung him to it. - -He tried to climb up, and slipped back. He tried again and again, and -then began to make it, an inch at a time. Something was singing in his -ears. It was like the droning hum of the saw in the mill. For a moment -he rested. He could not see the top of the rock, but he could see the -shore, and there were many figures on it now--men running down to where -Josette was again standing waist-deep in the water. - -With new courage he pulled himself up, and then he gave a cry--a -madman's cry of horror, fear and futile warning. The woman had slipped -to the very edge of the rock--the edge that lipped the fury of the Pit. -She was half over. And she was slipping--_slipping_.... - -He scrambled toward her, flinging himself down the treacherous dip to -catch at her long hair. He caught a strand of it, but it pulled away -from him--and he thrust himself another foot and buried his fingers in -the wet mass of it. In that moment the sea took her. It dragged her -down, and Pierre, holding fast to her hair, went with her into the -black death of the Pit; and as he went his wide eyes saw once more the -blue of the sky and the tops of his beloved forests, and out of his -soul came a soundless cry, the faith and gratitude of a man who was not -afraid to die, "After all--God has been a long time good to me--Pierre -Gourdon!" - -Even then, in that roaring baptism of death, his mind was on the woman. -It would not do to let her body beat itself among the rocks alone, and -in some way--as they were twisted and torn by the rending currents--he -got his arms about her. He made no effort to fight, except to hold -her. To fight against the forces which had him in their power was -impossible. He was like a chip in a boiling pot, twisted and turned, -now thrust downward and then up, but never far enough to snatch a -breath of air. He felt the blows of the rocks. Then he began going -down, until it seemed in the last moment that he was falling swiftly -through illimitable space. Consciousness of the woman's presence was -gone, but he still held her in his arms. - -Only the strong hands of Joe Gourdon and Simon McQuarrie held Josette -from joining her husband in the heart of the Pit. She struggled against -them, crying out her right to go to him, until they brought her to -the narrow rim of beach under the cliff and her eyes fell on little -Mona. The wind had blown the child's wet hair back from her face, and a -bitter cry came to Josette's lips and resentment burned in her for an -instant like a fire. Pierre was gone because of _her_, because of this -beautiful, star-eyed child and the woman! They had taken him from her. -And here was the child, living, staring at her with those eyes which -had made Pierre call her _l'Ange_--staring at her--while Pierre--and -the other woman--dead and beaten among the rocks.... And then.... - -"_My mother!_" - -It was the child's voice, two words crying out to her, faint and -yearning and filled with agony above the lash of the sea, and with an -answering cry Josette fell down sobbing upon her knees and opened her -arms and held the little stranger tightly against her breast. For a -space after that she was blind to what happened about her. Dominique -stood between her and the sea, even as he saw the grim joke which the -fiends of the Pit were playing upon them this day. For these fiends -were seldom known to give up their playthings, whether logs or sticks -or living things. Once he had known them to keep the body of a dog for -days, and at another time a strong-limbed buck had died there, and it -was a week before they had tired of him and had thrown him ashore. But -this day there was a change. Joe Gourdon and Jeremie Poulin and Poleon -Dufresne had leaped waist-deep into the surf and were bringing out the -bodies of Pierre and the woman! - -It was Marie Antoinette who knelt beside them first, and unclasped -Pierre's arms from about the woman. And then Josette saw them. She -staggered to her feet and ran past Dominique, and the first she looked -upon was the white, dead face of the mother. Very tenderly then she -took Pierre's head in her arms, and bent her own over it until both -their faces were shrouded in her long hair. - -"He isn't dead," she whispered. No one heard her, for she was saying it -only to herself, and then to Pierre. "He isn't dead. He isn't dead." -She repeated the words, swaying her body gently with Pierre, and the -others drew back, and Marie Antoinette hid little Mona's face against -her while Simon McQuarrie and Telesphore Clamart bore the dead woman -between them round the end of the cliff. And Josette kept repeating, -"He isn't dead, he isn't dead," and she kissed Pierre's lips, and -pressed her cheek against his cheek, and the women and men of Five -Fingers stood back and waited, none daring to be first to break in upon -these sacred moments which belonged to Josette and her dead. - -At last Marie Antoinette came up softly and knelt beside Josette and -put a loving hand about her shoulder. Josette's eyes turned to look at -her and they were soft and glowing and so strange they frightened Marie -Antoinette. "He isn't dead," she was still saying, and she bowed her -face down again to Pierre's. - -Choking the sob in her throat, Marie Antoinette put her hand to -Josette's face--and a great shock ran through her. She had touched -Pierre's cheek. She felt with her other hand, and drew back Josette's -hair, her heart suddenly throbbing like an Indian drum. Then she saw it -was not the madness of grief that kept Josette repeating those words, -but the intuition of a soul which had felt the nearness of its mate, -for Pierre's eyes slowly opened and the first vision which came to him -out of a roaring sea of dreams was the face of his wife. - -From the group of tensely waiting people Mona had come, sobbing in -a strange, quiet way for her mother, and as Marie Antoinette drew a -little back Josette caught the child close to her, along with Pierre, -and as Pierre reached his arms up weakly to them both the thought came -to him again, "_God has been a long time good to me--Pierre Gourdon!_" - - - - -CHAPTER IV - - -It was the blue jay that mellowed the fear of death in the swiftly -beating heart of Peter McRae. He had always been a friend of the blue -jays, and this particular bird had perched himself in a spruce top a -hundred feet away, screaming defiance at Peter's enemies and telling -him to keep up his nerve and not be afraid. - -Without going beyond his fourteen-year-old power of reasoning Peter had -a strange and abiding faith in the Canadian blue jay tribe. He was a -boy's bird, if there ever was one, with his everlasting cocksureness, -his persevering courage and his hundred and one little tricks of -outlawry and piracy--a bird who was always ready for a fight, never ran -away from trouble, and who lived up beautifully to the man-made law, -"Do others before others do you." He was a gentleman and a sportsman -even if he was a robber and a pest, and Peter loved him. - -He could see this particular blue jay very clearly. Shouting voices -and the crack of rifles had not frightened him away, and he was making -a great commotion in the spruce tops, screaming until it seemed his -raucous cries must split his throat. Then, too, there was the cheerful -little sapsucker who persisted in pecking for grubs in the end of the -big log behind which Peter and his father were hidden, and two newly -mated red squirrels who chattered and ran up and down a tree a little -farther on, one chasing the other. A big yellow butterfly slowly opened -and closed its fan-like wings almost within reach of Peter's hand. - -These things kept the madness of utter fear out of the boy's brain. His -thin, rather frail face was very white; his blue eyes were round, and -staring; his body, not so strong as it should have been, was doubled up -behind the log, and his heart throbbed like a hammer inside him--but -his courage was not gone. There were no tear stains about his eyes. In -one of his hands he clutched a twisted stick. - -From the blue jay and the sapsucker and the yellow butterfly his eyes -rested upon the face of Donald McRae, his father. That father, so far -back as Peter could remember clearly, had been not only a father, but -mother and brother and pal as well. "One thing you must live up to -all your life, Peter," this father had told him a hundred times, "and -that is to be a pal to your own boy when you have one, just as you -are now a pal of your dad's. If a dad and his boy are not pals they -shouldn't have been born." So they had been that, with no secrets -between them except one that had led up to this tragedy of today, and -which the boy had not yet begun to understand. All he knew was that for -some mysterious reason they were fighting for their lives, and were -now sheltered behind a log, and that men a little distance away were -watching and waiting to kill them with guns. - -The man smiled at him and chuckled in a way Peter loved. But the smile -and the chuckle did not hide the flame smoldering deep in his eyes, -nor the pallid tenseness of his face, nor the trickle of blood that -persisted in running down his cheek and wetting the soft roll of his -collar. He was bareheaded and sweaty; his blond hair, very much like -Peter's, was wildly disheveled; his hands gripped a gun, and lying on -his stomach, he had made himself a loophole by digging leaves and mold -from under a crooked elbow in the log. Through this he had watched for -his enemies. His grin was chummy and companionable as he turned to -Peter. - -"Everything all right?" he asked. "Not afraid, are you?" - -Peter shook his head. "I'm not much scared." - -"Getting hungry?" - -"No." - -"Thirsty?" - -"A little--not much." - -The man laughed. He did not feel like laughing. But he laughed, -fighting to make it appear natural and unstrained. - -"You're a trump, Peter. God knows you're a trump!" - -A rifle cracked in the thick fringe of balsams and jack pines a -hundred and fifty yards from them, and a bullet struck the log with -a sodden _chug_. The man wiped the blood from his cheek with a -handkerchief that was stained red. - -"Does it hurt, dad?" - -"Nothing but a scratch, Peter." - -He put his face to the ground and peered under the log again. - -Peter changed his position, uncramped his legs and doubled himself up -in another fashion, hugging the earth closely. The blue jay was having -a fit, and the sapsucker perked his bright-eyed little head at him not -more than a dozen feet away. He could hear a bird singing, and one of -the red squirrels was chattering his late afternoon song in a mountain -ash tree overhanging the river. Between his knees was a clump of -violets. - -The log was almost at the edge of the river, which was a swollen flood, -and the stream bent itself around like a hairpin, shutting them in on -three sides. That was why they were safe, Peter's father had told him. -No living thing could swim it to get behind them, and in front of them -was a narrow neck of land which was open and clear right up to the -thick edge of the swamp a rifle shot away. Across that open no one had -dared to come. - -A dozen times during the past hour Peter had wished the river was not -there, for it held them prisoners even if it did keep their enemies -back. Across it, not much farther away than he could have thrown a -stone, was a deep, dense forest of primeval darkness, low and swampy, -in which he conceived a thousand hiding-places for himself and his -father. Peter's mind sometimes traveled beyond his years, and as he -looked at the stream, yearning for the safety of the other side, he -wondered why the blue jay and the sapsucker and the singing brush -sparrow should have wings while they had only legs and arms. - -Only wings could carry them over the stream. In the dry months of -summer it was not much more than a creek, with sand bars and pebbly -shores and polished rocks sticking out of it. Now, in this flood time -of spring, it had no shores and was a thing gone mad. It was deep and -black, and swept past with a steady, growling roar, eating into the -banks on its way, uprooting trees and slashing itself into caldrons -of boiling fury where the channel narrowed or where it leaped over -the great boulders and rock débris of rapids. From where he crouched -Peter could see one of these places a quarter of a mile below, and -there the water was not black but white, and leaped and spouted as if -huge monsters were churning it. Under ordinary conditions the swollen -stream would have lured and fascinated him. It came out of a vast and -mysterious Canadian wilderness, and it disappeared into an adventure -land of forests equally vast and strange. With it rode many things of -interest--huge piles of driftwood, shooting down on the crest of the -flood like islands; big logs that sped with the swiftness of monster -serpents; and great trees, freshly torn out by the roots, and with -their tops trailing and swishing like whips urging on a living thing. - -Peter was staring at it when a hand rested itself gently on his head. -Donald McRae was watching him, and a slow torture had burned itself -like the scar of a living coal in his eyes and face. More than the -earth he walked upon and more than the God he believed in, he loved -this boy. It was Peter, with his thin, quizzical face, and his mind -and courage developed beyond his strength and years, who had made life -bearable and joyous for him. As he had worshiped the mother, linking -his soul with hers until it had been taken away, so he worshiped this -one precious part of her she had left to him. Without Peter.... - -He choked back the thickness in his throat as he placed his hand on the -boy's head. It was a habit with him to talk with Peter at times as if -he were a man, and the man-way in which Peter's eyes met his now gave -him courage. - -"They won't try to cross that open before dark," he said. "They're -afraid of us in the light, Peter. But they'll come when it's dark. And -we can't wait for them. We've got to get away." - -The boy's face brightened. He had a consummate faith in this father -of his. He waited, keenly expectant, twisting one of the blue violets -between his thin fingers. - -"Does the creek frighten you, son?" asked the man. - -"It's pretty swift, but I'm not much scared of it." - -"Of course not. You wouldn't be your dad's boy, if you were. See that -log down there, the big dry one, half in the water?" He pointed, and -Peter nodded. "When it begins to get dusk we'll crawl down and take a -ride on that. It won't be hard to get away." - -For the first time a tremor came in the boy's voice. - -"Dad, what are they trying to shoot us for? What have we done?" - -Donald McRae made a pretense of peering through his loophole again. -He wanted to cry out with the sickness that was in his heart, and in -the same voice call down the vengeance of God upon the makers of that -grim and merciless law which at last had come to corner and destroy him -where he had built his little cabin home in the edge of the wilderness. -It was impossible--now--to answer that question of Peter's, "_What have -we done?_" - -He raised his head, and faced his boy. - -"It's five o'clock. We'd better have a bite to eat. When we take to the -water it will spoil our grub." - -From the pocket of a coat which lay at his side he took some biscuits -and meat. Peter made a sandwich and munched at it, yearning for a -little of the black river-water to go with it. When the man had -finished he drew from an inside pocket of the same coat a wallet, a -pencil and a corked bottle half filled with matches. In the wallet he -found a sheet of paper, and on this he wrote for several minutes, after -which he folded the sheet of paper very tightly, thrust it into the -bottle with the matches, and corked it in securely. Then he gave the -bottle to Peter. - -"Put that in your pocket," he said, "and remember what I'm telling you -now, Peter. We're going to make for a place called Five Fingers. A man -lives there whose name is Simon McQuarrie. Don't forget those two--Five -Fingers and Simon McQuarrie. What I have written and put in the bottle -is for him. If anything should happen to me----" He broke in upon -himself with a cheerful laugh. "Of course nothing _will_ happen, Peter, -but if it should--you promise to take that bottle to him?" - -"I'll take it." - -"Where?" - -"Five Fingers." - -"Who?" - -"Simon McQuarrie." - -"Right. Now keep watch through this hole while I cut some leather -strings out of the tops of my boots. We may need them to harness the -log with when we go to sea. Won't they be surprised when they come and -find us gone--eh--Peter?" - -"You bet they will!" agreed Peter fervently. - -Quietly he began watching the open through the hole which his father -had made under the log. He breathed a little more tensely, for he -realized the deadly importance of his vigil. Yesterday one of his -ambitions had been to wear a uniform when he was old enough, one with -stripes and brass buttons, and with a big revolver fastened to a cord -hung around his neck. He had looked upon the wilderness police with -the awe of a youngster who loved romance and adventure. Today he hated -them. Only a little while ago he had waited for his father at their -cabin, with a good dinner ready for him. Then his father had come, -galloping on a horse Peter had never seen before. - -"I've had a little trouble with the police, Peter, and we've got to hit -into the woods," he had said. - -The suddenness of it had taken Peter's breath away. They did not wait -to eat any of the dinner he had prepared. Even then the police almost -caught them before they reached this log. There were four of them. His -father had kept them back with his rifle, and Peter was disappointed in -his marksmanship. He was sure he could have done better himself. His -father missed every time, even though his bullets did go close enough -to make their enemies dodge behind trees. And always before that he had -been proud of his father's shooting! - -His hand touched the cool barrel of the rifle, and a thrill ran -through him. It was a thing he had never felt before. He was sure _he_ -would not miss if he could only be given a chance, for he had often -hit rabbits at that distance of a hundred and fifty yards, and a man -was many times larger than a rabbit. An inch at a time, slowly and -carefully so that his father would not notice what he was doing, he -poked the barrel of the rifle through the hole. He would be ready, -anyway. He had forgotten fear. His blood was hot. His father had -always talked to him about playing square, and never taking a mean -advantage, and always to fight for women, no matter who they were. -Well, there were no women here, but it wasn't playing square when four -men came after his father like this. If they would come out, clean and -sportsmanlike, one at a time, and fight with fists instead of guns.... - -"You see, Peter," his father was saying as he cut a thin strip from his -boot top, "I couldn't leave you in the cabin alone. I've got to get you -down to Five Fingers. If Simon McQuarrie isn't there, you wait for him. -And don't show anyone else that paper in the bottle!" - -Peter was not listening. His heart had given a sudden terrific jump -and was half choking him. In the edge of a clump of dwarf banksians -something had moved. And then his father turned--just in time to catch -his hand, to stop his finger at the trigger, to drag him back from the -hole. Never as long as he lived would he forget the terrible look that -had come into his father's face. To hide it Donald McRae leaned over -his son and hugged him close to his arms, and for a space the law might -have descended upon them without resistance. - -From the shelter of the evergreens Corporal Crear of the Provincial -Police was looking toward the log. His men were lying close about him. - -"We've got to go out and get him when it's dark enough," he said. -"Don't shoot unless you have to, but if that happens--shoot straight. -Only be sure it's not the kid. That's what puzzles me--why McRae has -the kid with him out there behind the log!" - -Only Donald McRae and Peter could have solved that mystery for Crear, -and even then Crear might not have understood. It was something which -belonged entirely to Peter and his father. As they waited for the sun -to dip behind the tall evergreen forest across the river, they lay -very close together, and their eyes met frequently and their hands and -bodies touched. - -There was something pathetically doglike in the man's dependence upon -his boy. Take Peter away from him and his heart was gone, for Peter -was the one thing he had left of a great faith and a great love that -would never die. More than once a cold fear had swept over him at the -thought of something happening to him, and he had always prayed that -if anything did happen, it would come to both at the same time. Even -now he would not have sent Peter back to the safety of the cabin. -That would have meant dissolution for himself--and strangers and a -heartbreaking tragedy of aloneness for Peter. - -Across the river there was hope, and a refuge for Peter at Five Fingers -with Simon McQuarrie. A woman had put an undying faith in the justness -of God in Donald McRae's soul, and always there were two things in his -breast, faith and memory of the woman, like stars which no darkness -could dim. Their glow lay warmly in his eyes as he saw the courage with -which the boy waited for the setting of the sun. - -As the long shadows came creeping across the river Peter no longer -felt the fear which had made his heart beat so uncomfortably fast. His -father's presence and the touch of his hand filled him with an utter -confidence. The man even pointed out to him the mysteries of an ant -home which they had accidentally destroyed in the log, and told him a -story of how once upon a time he had gone down a flooded stream like -this, and what fun it had been. - -Then the shadows came more swiftly. The sun at last left only a golden -glow above the forest. The blue jay and the sapsucker were gone. Out of -the woods came the melodious dusk song of many red squirrels. A flock -of crows sailed overhead on their way to the evening roosting place. -The rush of the river seemed more gentle and lost its menace for Peter. -The churning turmoil of the distant rapids was mellowed in a soft mist, -and a little later they could not make out clearly the driftwood going -down with the stream. - -"Now is our time," said Peter's father. "Creep after me, flat on your -stomach." - -It took them only a minute to reach the big dry log. They could move -freely here, for the upward dip of the bank concealed them. Donald -McRae did not let Peter guess the tension he was under as he worked. -He stood his rifle where the police would easily find it and laughed -softly as he tied one end of a stout leather thong about Peter's wrist -and the other end about his own. After that he rolled the log into -the water and tested it to get its proper balance and tied the other -leather thongs to a projecting stub. - -"It's just right," he announced cheerfully. "A canoe couldn't have been -better built for us, Peter. Are you ready?" - -"I'm ready," said Peter. - -He was in the water to his knees; now he went in to his waist. It was -cold, biting cold; his teeth clicked, but he did not say anything about -it. He looped his arms about the stub and through one of the leather -thongs, and from the opposite side of the log his father twisted the -fingers of one hand tightly in his coat. Then they began to move. His -feet lost bottom and the cold water shot up to his armpits, taking his -breath away. His father grinned cheerfully at him and he tried to grin -back. In a moment they were in the current and the shore began to slip -past them with amazing swiftness. It was not unpleasant, except for the -icy chill of the water, which seemed to take the place of blood in his -veins. There was no resistance against his body; the log carried them -buoyantly and smoothly, so that after a little he had courage to look -about him. - -Their log had swung quickly into mid-stream, and they were overtaking -a more slowly moving mass of driftwood. The thought came to Peter -that it was like a race. Then something alive caught his eyes on the -flotsam. It was a furry, catlike creature with short, perky ears and -a fox's face, and he could almost have touched it with his hands when -they passed. - -"A fisher-cat," said his father. "He will have a nice swim when he hits -the rapids!" - -Peter was wondering just how much of a chance the fisher-cat had when -something drifted against him. It was a drowned porcupine, floating -belly up. The porky must have had a nice swim, too! - -He shivered. The roar of the rapids was growing, and it was no longer -pleasant to hear. The musical cadence which distance had given it was -gone, and a sullen, snarling undertone of menace and wrath began to -pound at the drums of his ears. In the twilight it looked as though -they were racing straight into the mouth of a huge churn out of which -milky froth was spouting. - -Then two things happened which seemed odd to Peter. The dead porcupine -was clinging to the log as if some sort of life held it there, and the -fisher-cat's raft of driftwood which they had overtaken and passed was -now _passing them_. To Peter this last was unaccountable, but to Donald -McRae, who understood the whims and caprices of flood currents, there -was no mystery about it. For a moment the fisher-cat seemed about to -make a leap for the log. Then he huddled back and disappeared with his -raft in the rougher water that preceded the gray wall of spume. - -The man's hand tightened its hold on Peter. - -"Hang on and don't get scared," he cried. "We'll go through this like a -rubber ball!" - -That was the last Peter heard of his voice, and suddenly his father's -face was blotted out from his vision. A huge mouth opened and engulfed -them. He could feel himself going down it, with roaring gloom and -mighty explosions of water bursting itself against great rocks all -about him. For a space which seemed an eternity he gave himself up -for lost, and he wanted to scream out to his father. But the water -smothered him. It thrust him under, buried him, then tossed him up to -breathe. He hung on, as his father had told him, and after three or -four minutes which were so many hours to him he could breathe easier -and the roaring grew less. - -They had come through a half-mile of the rapids then. The last of the -rocks snapped at them, like growling dogs at their heels, and suddenly -the water grew deep and smooth where it swung shoreward in a great -eddy. For the first time Peter felt a hurt. It was his father's hand, -holding him in a grip that only death could have broken. And then he -saw his father's face. Donald McRae was gasping for breath. Even Peter -would never know the fight he had made to keep the log running right -during those three or four minutes in the rapids. - -Slowly the current brought them to the shore. It was the shore they -wanted, too, with its deep evergreen forests and its hundreds of miles -of untrailed hiding-places. The big pool was dotted with drifting -masses of débris. One of these, very near to them, Peter was sure he -recognized. But the fisher-cat was no longer on it. - -He was terribly cold, and when at last his father brought the end of -the log to the shore and helped him out to dry ground the boy fell down -in a sodden heap. He was ashamed of himself and tried to get up. - -Donald McRae took one of his hands. - -"You must walk, Peter--run if you can. Come on!" - -He almost dragged him into the darkness of the forest, and Peter began -to use his legs. It made him feel better. But his teeth chattered and -his body shook as if he had the ague. Two or three hundred yards in the -shelter of the timber they came to an overturned spruce tree, and near -this was a birch with festoons of loose bark hanging from it. - -Donald McRae stripped off an armful of the bark, and one of Peter's -blue hands fished out the precious bottle of matches from his pocket. -Very soon the flames were leaping up joyously, and he felt their warmth -entering into his body. He helped to gather wood. In a quarter of an -hour there was a glow in his face, and the big backlog of pitch-filled -cedar was a flaming furnace. Darkness settled heavily in the forest, -and he was no longer afraid or uncomfortable as he continued to dry -his clothes. His father, in a period between wood-gathering, cleaned -his pipe and began to dry out some of his soaked tobacco. That was -cheerful and inspiring. It always seemed chummier and more homelike to -Peter when his father was smoking his pipe. - -Later they broke off cedar and balsam boughs until they had a soft -bed two feet deep within the warmth of the fire. When the last thread -in his clothing was dry Peter crept into this bed. He had no idea of -sleeping but made himself a comfortable nest and sat bright-eyed and -watchful while his father rested with his back against the log and -smoked. - -A hundred times they had made camps together that were very much like -this one. On hunting and fishing expeditions, and when berries were -ripe, and on the trap lines, they had slept out many nights with -boughs for a bed. But there had never been the thrill of tonight. The -cumulative significance of what had happened was just beginning to find -itself in Peter's head. This night was different from all other nights. -The darkness which had gathered heavily about them was different, -the fire did not seem as friendly, and his father, smoking his pipe, -was changed. Always in their adventuring they had been in quest of -something--fish or venison, berries or fur. Now something was after -them. It was this slow process of mental and physical change from the -hunter into the hunted, and its understanding, that was creeping into -Peter's soul. - -He loved night with its mystery of darkness, its stars and its moon, -but now he could feel and hear it breathing secret plottings and -danger. When the fire crackled too loudly or its flames leaped too high -he shivered, fearing it would betray them. He wondered why his father -remained in the light now that they were warm and dry, for there were -safer hiding-places in the great pits of gloom that encompassed them. -But he said nothing, feeling strangely that even to voice fear would -bring reality upon them. - -He watched his father, and the brightness in his eyes--something -new and strange that lay in them--was like a stab to Donald McRae. -In this hour he saw the boy's soul changing. Peter, at last, was -beginning to build up the truth. Something terrible must have -happened--somewhere--or the police would not be after his father. He -had believed the police were omniscient, that they hunted only bad -people. That was what they were for--to shut bad people in prisons, or -hang them, or shoot them. _And they were after his father!_ - -The man saw these things in Peter's eyes and in his pale, thin face. -And suddenly a revulsion of horror and of rage swept over Peter. If the -police said his father was bad they were liars. He hated them, and if -the chance came to him he would get even with them. He would beat out -their lives with a club. He would kill them--if they didn't leave his -father alone! - -He said nothing. But he got out of his nest in the evergreen boughs -and sat close to his father against the log, and Donald McRae put his -arm around him and puffed hard at his pipe to keep the firelight from -revealing what was in his eyes. The world might be against him, but -Peter would be like this, his friend and pal to the last. He knew it, -and thanked God. - - - - -CHAPTER V - - -Peter did not know when he fell asleep. He was buried in the -sweet-scented cedar and balsam when his father awakened him. He sat up -and rubbed his eyes, and it came to him quickly where he was. The fire -was out and dawn was breaking up the gloom of the forest. He missed the -fire, and the bacon frying over it, and the pot of coffee steaming in -the coals. Those were the usual things that greeted him when he woke up -in camp. And this morning he was hungry. - -They headed straight into the heart of the unexplored timberlands south -and west, and with empty hands and no pack on his back Donald McRae -talked as cheerfully as though they had a week's rations with them. But -his eyes were constantly questing for something to eat, and it occurred -to him as a sort of tragedy that he had not tied his rifle to the log. -He did not explain to Peter just why he had left it where the police -would easily find it. - -By midday their hunt for food had become a thrilling adventure to -Peter. It stirred his blood even more than thought of their enemies, -for the police seemed an interminable distance away now, shut out by -miles of wilderness. There was something fascinating about it, too. -There were birds about them and rabbit runways in every dip and swamp -they came to, and deer and moose and caribou tracks so plentiful in -places that they made trails like the hoof-beaten paths of cattle. - -But there was nothing they could get at, except porcupines. During -the morning they could have killed half a dozen of these animals with -clubs, but each time porcupine flesh was suggested for dinner Peter -made a grimace of revulsion. Twice they had tried it experimentally on -their camping trips and both times it had nauseated him. He insisted he -would rather starve than eat any more of that ill-smelling, fatty stuff -the porcupine was made of. He would chew spruce gum instead. There was -plenty of it on the trees they passed. - -"If you get too hungry we'll roast some lily roots," said Donald, "but -if you can hold out until night we'll have the feast of our lives." - -Peter held out. The sun was still up when they came from heavy timber -into a long, narrow meadow running into a swamp on the other side. This -was the sort of place Donald McRae had been looking for. In the edge -of the swamp were rabbit runways beaten fresh and hard. They chose the -site for their camp in the rim of the high timber, and while Peter -brought in firewood Donald made snares from another section of boot -top. These he set in the runways. It was scarcely more than dusk when -the first big snowshoe ran his head through a noose and found himself -swinging at the end of a sapling. An hour later he was roasted, and -in the light of their fire they divided the feast between them. Peter -didn't mind the absence of salt and bread and potatoes. Nothing he -could remember had ever tasted quite so good to him as the unseasoned -rabbit. - -Food and the warmth of the fire made him drowsy, and very soon after -they had finished their supper Donald tucked him snugly into the bed -of evergreens they had made and covered him with his coat. Peter fell -asleep instantly, and for several minutes the man remained on his knees -at his side, the smile of tenderness in his face changing slowly into -a look of haggard grief. When he rose to his feet the luster had died -out of his eyes and years had fallen upon his shoulders. He caught -his breath sobbingly as he stared into the wall of chaotic darkness -beyond the firelight. It was only Peter who counted now, and this night -was the last Peter would be with him. Tomorrow he would be alone, an -outlaw, a hunted man running away to save his life. And Peter.... - -A moan came to his lips, a dry and broken cry of hopelessness, and his -eyes fixed themselves in their anguish upon the heart of the fire. -Without Peter, would God give him strength to live? What would the -days be like--and the nights--and the months and years to come without -Peter? For Peter was not only Peter. In taking the mother, God had -given her soul back to him in the body of her boy. She was a part of -him, speaking with his voice, looking out of his eyes, loving with his -love, a comrade and pal to the man in spirit even as she had been in -her own sweet life. And now--tomorrow--he would lose them both. The -law was after him. Its hounds would follow him from hole to hole, like -foxes after a rabbit, and probably in the end they would get him. - -He closed his eyes to shut out the thing that was hurting him. When -he opened them a face seemed to have taken form in the glow of the -fire like a soul come to give him courage and resolution, sweetly sad -in its inspiration, glorious in its consolation and cheer. Every day -through the years this visioning of his wife had come to him; through -those years she had walked hand in hand with him, she had been with -him in the upgrowing of Peter, had helped to teach him the love of God -and the glory of nature, and had laughed and cried and sung with them -as sunshine and shadow came. And always, in the darkest hours, Donald -McRae saw her face, sweet and strong and never afraid. And so it was -tonight. - -"This is your last great fight for our Peter," her eyes seemed to say -to him. "You must be strong." - -And then she was gone. Slowly the fire died out, and he put no more -wood upon it, but sat motionless and silent until it was only a red -glow of ember and ash. - -He did not sleep. The moon rose and the clear sky above was filled with -stars. In their light he walked back and forth in the open, a solitary -figure with a thousand still shadows about him. It was the sort of -night he loved, a spring night breathing and whispering of summer and -sweet with the perfumes of balsam and spruce and growing things under -his feet. These things were a part of his God, and of Peter's God. Just -as the woman had built up his faith in him, pointing out its truth and -beauty and glory, so had he built up in Peter an illimitable faith in -this God which was nature. It strengthened him now. The glow of the -moon, the softness of the stars, the gentle whisperings of the wind, -the low music of running water and the thrill and tremble of inanimate -and voiceless life about him were a part of his religion. - -"Love a tree and you love God," had been his text for Peter. And as -long as there remained trees and flowers and the songs of birds and -eyes and ears with which to see and hear, hope could never die. His -brain cleared and his heart grew stronger as he paced more swiftly -through the moonlight. The world was gloriously big, he told himself -again and again. Somewhere in it was a place for him and Peter, and -when he found it, far away from the menace of the law, Peter would not -fail to come when he called. But tomorrow he must be strong enough -to lie and strong enough to leave Peter at Five Fingers with Simon -McQuarrie. - -Toward dawn he built up the fire and cooked another rabbit which he -caught in one of the snares. It was ready when Peter crawled out of his -balsam bed. He did not know his father had not slept during the night. -Donald McRae began to whistle when he saw the boy was awake, and though -an uncomfortable thickening, persisted in his throat he fought to make -the whistling cheerful just the same. - -He announced his plan to Peter as if it were born of sudden inspiration -and happily solved a temporary problem for them. He told him about -Five Fingers and their old friend, Simon McQuarrie. Peter could just -remember the Scotchman and Simon's fat Dutch partner and friend, -Herman Vogelaar. Donald McRae seemed to recall them now with great -pleasure, and he was sure Peter would enjoy his little visit with them, -especially as there were several boys and girls of his own age to play -with at Five Fingers. Of course he would come back soon, and maybe they -would live at Five Fingers, if Peter liked it there. He continued to -build up the lie, but something of trouble remained deep back in the -boy's eyes. Donald tried not to see it too much, for it was the look he -would have seen in the woman's eyes, if she had been in Peter's place. - -They traveled until noon and ate their lunch. The afternoon was well -gone when they heard the striking of an axe ahead of them. A quarter of -an hour later they could hear several axes, and the distant crash of a -falling tree. Donald McRae steeled his heart, and stopped. Yet in this -moment he was smiling. - -"That is Five Fingers," he said. "Can you go on alone, Peter?" - -Peter nodded. "But I don't want to," he said. "I want to go with you, -dad." - -"You must go to Five Fingers, Peter. I'll come back soon. I promise -that. I'll come back--soon." - -A gulp came in Peter's throat. - -"I'm not tired. I can go a long ways yet, dad. I'd rather go with you." - -The man drew him into his arms. - -"I'll come back tomorrow," he lied, fighting to speak the words calmly. -"And you must get the paper in the bottle to Simon McQuarrie as soon as -you can. You aren't afraid to go alone, are you, Peter?" - -"No, I'm not afraid." - -"Then--you must go." He hugged him close for a moment, and rested his -cheek on Peter's disheveled hair. "Maybe I'll come back tonight," he -whispered desperately. "Good-by, little pal. Hurry--and give Simon the -paper--and--good-by!" - -His lips burned against Peter's forehead. It was that kiss which -startled Peter, and when his father turned away, and then looked back, -smiling and waving a hand, a suffocating feeling remained in Peter's -heart as if he could not get all the air he wanted to breathe. He -tried to wave his hand in response, but in a moment it fell limply to -his side. Donald McRae saw the gesture and a sob came in his breath. -He disappeared behind a windfall, stopped and looked back. Peter was -slowly turning toward Five Fingers. The small figure was pathetic in -its aloneness. Twice it paused and turned, and then went on, and was -hidden at last by a screen of evergreens. - -"God be with you and care for you, Peter, and give me strength to bear -this parting," sobbed Donald McRae. - -With white and haggard face he turned into the North. - - - - -CHAPTER VI - - -Beyond the thicket of young jack pines Peter did not hurry. His feet -dragged, and he listened, hoping he would hear his father's voice -calling him back. In half an hour he did not travel far beyond the -evergreens. Then he knew his father was gone. He continued in the -direction of Five Fingers, recalling his promises. Tonight or tomorrow -his father would return. He hoped it would be tonight, for there was a -lump in his throat which he could not get rid of, and something in his -heart which frightened him with suspicions and fears which he was too -young to analyze. But he knew his father would not lie. He would come -back. He wondered what was written on the paper he was taking to Simon -McQuarrie. Probably it told about the wickedness of the police, and -Simon would help in some way. Other questions came into his mind now -that he was alone. Why hadn't his father gone on to Five Fingers with -him? - -The chopping of the axes had ceased, but he knew he was heading in -the right direction. He came into openings filled with the stumps of -trees that had been cut down, and these clearings were carpeted with -white and pink spring flowers and masses of violets. He had never seen -such beautiful violets, or so many birds at this season of the year. -There were robins and thrushes and dozens of little warblers and brush -sparrows, and the cutting down of trees seemed to have brought all the -sapsuckers and woodpeckers and gaudily colored blue jays in the woods. -The sun was delightfully warm, too, though in another hour it would -be settling behind the tree tops. In this glory of peace and quiet -he proceeded quietly and cautiously, for his father had taught him -always to do that in the forest. So he came without sound of footfall -or crackling brush to the edge of a little opening beyond a thicket of -poplars and birch, and here he stopped suddenly and his heart jumped up -into his mouth. - -Standing in a warm pool of sunlight not twenty feet away from his -concealment was a young girl. She was almost as tall as Peter and so -lovely to look upon that he stared at her in amazement and admiration. -He thought she had seen him, and his first vision was of her face -and a pair of beautiful dark eyes, laughing up at a red squirrel, -chattering in a tree top a few paces away. Then she sat down, gathering -her flowers about her, and eyes and face were lost to him in a mass of -shining, black hair that fell quickly about her, almost touching the -ground she was seated upon. - -At first he was astonished. Then timidity and fear crept upon him and -he wanted to steal away as quietly as he had come. He drew back a step -and was preparing for the next when an unexpected interruption rooted -him to the spot. The wild and agonized yelping of a dog came from the -thick brush beyond the girl. Instantly she was on her feet, her slim -body quivering with the tension in which she waited. And then she -called, "Buddy--Buddy--come here!" - -With a series of pain-filled yelps the creature called Buddy responded. -He darted out of the brush and came like a streak across the open. It -seemed to Peter the half-grown pup was all legs and head and tail, and -that from the sounds he made he must be mortally hurt. Whimpering and -crying, he cringed at the girl's feet and kissed the hand she reached -down to him. But she did not look at him. She had dropped her flowers -and her attitude was fierce and expectant as she waited. - -Peter could see the bushes moving across the open and in a moment a boy -burst through them. He was half again as big as Peter, and he had a -stick in his hand. He followed the dog, half running, and Peter began -to hate him as he came. "Any person who will strike a dog should never -have been born," his father had taught him from the beginning; and -this boy with his thick red face and hulking body had been beating the -pup. He was panting triumph when he came up, and the pup slunk closer -between the feet of his mistress. The pursuer was at least two years -older than Peter. He had thick hands and little eyes and a bullet head, -and his eyes were glowing with wickedness. - -For an instant Peter saw the girl's eyes. They were dark pools of -flaming fire. Then like a little tigress she was at the other. Her -hands struck at his face and for a moment the bully was caught at a -disadvantage. He dropped his stick and caught her in his arms. His -hands buried themselves in her hair, and Peter saw her blows becoming -more and more futile. The pup snarled and darted in at the boy's feet. -A kick sent him back howling. - -Horror and rage possessed Peter when he saw the girl's head thrust -backward, and without a sound he ran out of his cover and caught her -assailant by the throat. Then, when the girl was freed, he struck. -That was another thing his father had taught him, to fight when it was -necessary to fight--_and always for a woman_. His fists struck hard and -furiously, and he heard a bellow of alarm and pain from the bully. - -The older boy stumbled and fell, and Peter was on him like a cat. He -realized this was no time to "play the game fair." They rolled and -twisted on the ground, and blood streamed from the bully's nose and -mouth. Once Peter saw the girl. She was standing very near, her lips -parted, her wonderful eyes shining at him. That glimpse of her was a -mighty encouragement. He fought harder, driving his fists home, and -kicking. Then they were on their feet again. - -It was the bully who renewed the battle. Mauled and bleeding, he had -recovered from the surprise attack and his greater bulk and weight -began to tell. Exhausted by two days and nights of hunger and flight, -Peter felt his strength going. He went down, and the bully flung -himself upon him. It was then Peter caught a second glimpse of the -girl. She had caught up the stick and was standing over them. He could -hear the stick as it struck blow after blow, and his enemy rolled over, -half stunned. They were both at the bully then, Peter with his fists -and the girl with her stick, and the older boy took to his heels in a -wild flight for the safety of the thicket out of which he had come a -few minutes before. - -Peter wiped his nose and mouth with his sleeve and gasped hard to get -his breath. The girl was breathing hard, too, and she was looking at -him with such wonder and gladness in her eyes that he wished he was -back in the timber again. Then she came to him and began nursing his -face with a soft handkerchief, and said things which he could not -remember afterward, and Buddy the pup jumped up against him, wagging -his knotty tail and licking his hand. - -Peter drew back and tried to grin. For a moment he had felt enormously -uncomfortable in the presence of this lovely little goddess of the -woods, with her soft handkerchief dabbing at his face. Now his old -cheer returned. He was glad the fight was over and was strongly -conscious that the girl had played no small part in the final victory. - -So he said apologetically, "He'd got me if you hadn't come in with the -stick." - -She stood back and looked at him. She was younger than he, probably not -more than thirteen, but to Peter she appeared to be infinitely older -in these first minutes of their acquaintance. It bothered him to meet -her eyes squarely, they were so big and dark and filled with soft fire, -like the velvety, jet-black hair that streamed in dishevelment about -her. - -"He is twice as big as you," she retorted. "I hate him. He belongs with -the tug from Fort William, and every time he comes we have a fight." - -"He's a--a woman-hitter," said Peter. - -She accepted his compliment with a dignified nod of her head. Then she -stamped her foot and shook her stick in the direction the bully had -gone. "If he ever tries to do again what he tried today--I'll--I'll----" - -"He won't while I'm around," helped out Peter, swelling with a bit of -pugnacious pride. "I wasn't in good shape, and I've been traveling -pretty hard, and we didn't have a lot to eat. I can lick him when I'm -fed up and rested." - -The girl was almost womanly in her swift intuition. Her eyes glowed -softly at Peter. - -"Who are you?" she asked gently. "I am Mona Guyon, and I live with -Josette and Pierre Gourdon at Five Fingers." - -"I'm Peter," said the boy. "Peter McRae." - -"Where you from?" was her next query. - -Peter took time to swallow. His father had not told him how to answer -questions. Then he pointed. - -"From away off there, miles and miles. My father brought me until we -could hear the axes, and then I came on alone. He's coming tonight or -tomorrow." - -"Is your mother with him?" - -"She's dead." - -He was not looking at her when she came to him and took his hand, -and in all his life he had never felt such a warm, soft little hand -clinging to his own as Mona Guyon's. - -"My mother is dead, too, Peter," she said. "And so is my father. They -were drowned--out there six years ago. It was Pierre Gourdon who -brought me in from the rock." - -It was an uncomfortable moment, and yet something of joy passed into -Peter. His fingers, smoke-stained and soiled, tightened about Mona's -hand as they both looked off over the cuttings to the wall of the vast -forest that shut out Lake Superior from their view. They could plainly -hear the distant murmuring of the surf. - -"I'm glad you've come," she said. "I hope you're going to live here. -Are you?" - -"Maybe," said Peter. - -"You're brave, and I like you. If you were that hateful Aleck Curry, -who looks like a toad----" - -"I wouldn't be him," interrupted Peter. - -"No, but if you _were_, and you tried to do what he did, I wouldn't hit -you with a stick." - -Peter's mind floundered in a futile effort to understand. - -"I can lick him tomorrow," he ventured. - -With a little laugh she pulled him to the scattered flowers. He helped -her pick them up and put them into one big bouquet. Her soft hair -touched his hands and he found it easier to look into her eyes. His -heart beat fast and he was strangely happy. He forgot his swelling eye -and a stiffening lip, but he did think of his father. He would surely -beg his father to live at Five Fingers. It would be wonderful there, -with someone like Mona to know and fight for. - -Then he thought of his message. - -"I've got something for Simon McQuarrie," he said. "Dad told me to -hurry with it." - -"And you're hungry." - -She took his hand again, in a possessive and matter-of-fact way. There -was something maternal about it, something so sweetly glad and friendly -that a great wave of comradeship swept through Peter. He was no longer -nervous or afraid. Tonight or tomorrow his father would come, and they -would all be happy. - -Through a glory of warm sunset they crossed the cut-over opens and -came soon to the crest of the green slope that looked down on a little -paradise hidden away in the heart of a great wilderness, a paradise of -green meadows, of water shimmering like silver in the sun, and of the -few log homes wherein lived the people whose paths Pierre Gourdon had -blazed through the forests many years before. - -"That is Five Fingers," said Mona. - -And down the slope she led the way with Peter, still holding him by the -hand. - -He was speechless as they went. Everywhere he looked the earth was -gloriously green, and in this green were the scattered cabins, with -little spirals of smoke rising from their chimneys. He could smell this -smoke, faintly sweet with the perfume of jack pine pitch and cedar. He -saw the big, yellow dunes of sawdust about the mill, and in the mill -itself, which had only a roof and no sides, the huge steel saw that -was silent for the day blazed like a mirror in the sun. The lowing of -cattle came up from the green meadows, and he saw horses grazing, and -then his heart gave another jump, for between them and the little plain -where the settlement lay were a doe and fawn. His fingers tightened -suddenly about Mona's hand, and he stopped, an excited wonder escaping -in a cry from his lips. The girl laughed softly and freed her hand for -a moment to braid back her lustrous hair. - -"That is Minna," she said. "We named her after Geertruda Poulin's last -baby. Pierre Gourdon allows no killing for miles and miles around here, -and the deer feed out of our hands and eat our hay with the cattle in -winter. Only----" Her lovely face clouded, and Peter saw a glow of -distress in her eyes. "The men kill porcupines because they eat our -chairs and doors and windows. But they bury them for me, over there -in my porcupine cemetery, and I plant flowers all around them. I love -porcupines." - -"So do I," said Peter. - -She took his hand again, and they continued down the slope. "Uncle -Pierre lets me have three of them for pets," she said. "I have a great -many pets, hundreds of them. All the birds and deer and bears and wild -things for as far as you can see belong to me, and none of them are -afraid of me. Uncle Pierre gave them to me, and no one harms them. No -one except Aleck Curry," she added with a quick note of fierceness -rising in her voice. "He would kill them all if he dared. I hate him!" - -"I'll lick him if he doesn't leave them alone," offered Peter. "I can -do it when I'm fed up." - -She squeezed his hand. - -"That's their boat--down there--with the big scow. It comes from Fort -William four or five times each spring and summer to take the lumber -away. Aleck's father owns it, and I hate him, too. He laughs at Uncle -Pierre and wants to bring hunters up." - -Peter was silent. A miracle was unfolding itself in his soul and under -his eyes. As they came near to the first of the cabins he thought again -of his father and his message. - -"Where does Simon McQuarrie live?" he asked. - -The girl pointed to a little cabin near the mill. "Over there. And -that's where I live--in the first of those two big cabins with the -rows of white stones around them. Uncle Pierre and Aunt Josette live -there, and Marie Antoinette and Joe in the other. Joe is Uncle Pierre's -boy, and Marie Antoinette is his wife. You'll love them. Everybody -does--except Aleck Curry." - -"I smell bacon," suggested Peter. - -The girl sniffed. - -"It--it's from Simon McQuarrie's cabin," she announced, a little -disappointed. "Won't you come down to our place? Please!" - -"I've got to see Simon," persisted Peter. "My father told me to see him -first." - -Simon saw them coming. His hard Scotch face softened as he saw Mona, -and he scarcely noticed Peter until they were at his open door. Then -Mona said, releasing her proprietary hold on the boy's hand: "This is -Peter McRae. His father is out in the woods, and he's coming tonight or -tomorrow. Peter wants to see you about something and he's hungry. He -just whipped Aleck Curry, and that's why his eye is black and his lip -swollen. Good-by, Peter!" - -There was something wholly and beautifully satisfying about Mona, and -Peter felt himself strangely alone when she left him and he found -himself in the cabin with Simon. And then a thing happened which would -have amazed all the people in Five Fingers could they have seen it, -for Simon McQuarrie, with his honest heart and hard face, had never -revealed himself a man of emotion. Yet scarcely had Mona gone when he -drew Peter into his arms, and his thin gray face shone with a strange -light as he looked over the boy's head into the sunset that flooded the -open door. - -"Peter--Peter McRae," he said as if speaking to himself. "Helen's -boy--and Donald's. It's been a long time since I've seen you, Peter, a -long time. And----" - -He held him off and looked at him in a way that puzzled Peter. "You -look like your mother, boy, when she was a little girl. I knew her -then." - -Peter was fishing in his pocket. - -"My father sent this to you," he said, giving Simon the bottle. - -The Scotchman opened it, and Peter watched his face as he read what was -on the paper. He saw the lines about Simon's mouth harden and little -wrinkles gather about his eyes. Then he turned, crushing the paper -tightly in one hand, and added half a dozen slices of bacon to those -already in the pan on the stove. After that he read the paper very -deliberately a second time, and burned it. He cut more bread, brought -out a pie, and while he added finishing touches to a feast that made -Peter's eyes shine, he talked--but not about the paper in the bottle. -When supper was ready he ate little himself, but watched the boy. Peter -was starved. When he was done Simon rose to his feet and passed a big, -lean hand over the boy's fair hair. His heart ached. Yet a duty had -been imposed upon him, and he did not draw away from it. Words which -Donald McRae had heavily underscored in the message he had sent kept -repeating themselves in his mind, like a voice which he could not put -off or deny. - -"Tell him _now_, tonight, as soon as he comes to you," Donald had -written. "Before the stars are over me again I want to feel that he -knows the truth, and understands, and has forgiven me. It may be I am a -coward because I do not tell him myself. But I cannot. I am afraid. I -want to think of him always as he has been. I cannot leave him with a -heart breaking or his faith dying. God will bless you, Simon. It is for -Peter's sake--and Helen's--even more than mine." - -They sat down on a bench, facing the last of the sunset, and Simon put -his arm about the boy's shoulders. He tried to begin, and something -rose in his throat and choked him so he could not speak. He tried -again, and said: - -"So Mona found you, and you fought Aleck Curry and whipped him?" - -"She helped me," confessed Peter. "But I was empty. I can lick him now, -when I'm fed up." - -Simon's arm tightened. His long fingers touched the boy's cheek gently. -"You like Mona?" - -"Yes, sir." - -Simon waited. Then he said: - -"Do you want me to tell you a story, Peter--a story about another girl -like Mona, who lived a long, long time ago?" - -Peter nodded, wondering whether Simon would then tell him something -about the letter that was in the bottle. - -The story was short, for Simon McQuarrie was a cold and--most people -thought--an emotionless man. But his heart was beating painfully as he -began his tale. - -"A long time ago there was another girl just like Mona, and just as -lovely and sweet, Peter, and there were three boys who grew up near -her. But one of these boys was almost a man, much older than the other -two, so that when the girl came to young womanhood he was really almost -old enough to be her father. And these three all loved her, every one -of them, but one of the three was very much like this Aleck Curry you -fought and had a heart in him that didn't know what clean love was. -Well, of course, she loved just _one_ of them, Peter, and he was the -best and noblest of the three. Her name was Helen." - -"My mother's name," said Peter quickly. - -"Yes, and the odd thing about it is the name of the man she married was -Donald, just like your father's. That's why I'm telling you the story, -Peter. It--it's queer." - -Peter was silent. - -"The man who was almost old enough to be her father was glad in a -way," went on Simon. "No one ever knew just how badly it broke him up, -but their happiness in time made him happy, and he was the best friend -they ever had. At least, I think he was. But the black-hearted one of -the three was different, and one day when Donald and the older man -were away he came to her cabin and insulted her, even though she had a -little baby in her arms. And just then the other two came back. What -would you have done, Peter?" - -Peter's body had stiffened. - -"If he was like Aleck Curry--I'd--I'd have killed him," he said. - -Simon drew in a deep, slow breath. - -"And that is just what happened, Peter. Donald killed him. He didn't -mean to do it. It was an accident. But it happened. And the other man -deserved it. He was better dead than alive. But it made a murderer of -Donald, and they hang murderers. So the older man cared for the woman -and the baby for three years, while Donald hid himself in the forests. -Then--Helen died. And Donald came back and took the boy, and for years -after that the law didn't know where he was, and they were happy -together, and would always have been happy if the law hadn't found him -again, and----" - -Simon's voice choked. His arm hugged Peter until it hurt. And then he -finished, almost whispering the last words, "Peter, I know it's all -true, because the older man's name was Simon McQuarrie--and I'm Simon -McQuarrie--and--the boy's name--_was Peter_." - -It was out. He bowed his grizzled cheek to the boy's face and fought -hard to choke back the thickening in his throat. It seemed a long time -to him that Peter did not move or speak. But he could feel the tremble -of the boy's body, and he knew that Peter understood. - -"So he won't come back," he said, trying to bring a note of comfort -into his strained voice. "At least not for a long time, Peter. And -he wants you to live with me. That's what he wrote on the paper you -brought in the bottle." - -Still Peter did not speak. He was staring through the door, and it was -hard for Simon to find more words. - -"We'll take good care of you here, Peter." - -Then Peter spoke. - -"Dad won't come back tonight or tomorrow?" - -"No." - -"Nor ever?" - -"Maybe he'll come, but it will be a long time." - -"And they're after him, like they were back there in the woods. They -want to--_hang him_?" - -"They won't catch him, Peter. That is why he left you here. He can -travel faster without you and is safe right now. But we must tell no -one else about him. We must keep it all between ourselves--a secret." - -Peter slipped out quietly from under Simon's arm. He had no more -questions to ask, and Simon made no effort to follow him as he went out -into the last glow of the day. Slowly Peter walked past the mill and -the yellow sawdust piles toward the timber which axes had not touched -at the edge of the clearing. But he no longer took notice of the sunset -glow or the twitter of birds or wondered at the molten gleam of the -Middle Finger. He entered into the shadowing twilight of the forest and -for the first time a sob broke from his dry lips. Then he called his -father's name aloud, and the silence that followed emptied his heart of -its last hope. He sank down in a huddled heap beside a tree, and his -grief found vent in a low sobbing that broke strangely and terribly -in the gloomy stillness of the trees. It was in this hour that Peter -needed the comfort of a woman's arms. His world was gone. Without his -father he wanted to die. - -The darkness crept closer about him. And then a little hand, timid, -soft, touched his cheek. - -"Peter!" - -It was Mona. Her beautiful eyes were glowing softly at him in the dusk -as he raised his head to look at her through his tears. She knelt down -beside him, and he choked back his sobs, struggling to hide his grief -and his tears from her. And then Buddy the pup snuggled under his arm -and kissed his cheek with his cool tongue. Mona was dabbing at his eyes -again with her little handkerchief, and her voice was soft and sweet in -its mothering gentleness. - -It was then Peter forgot Simon's warning, and there in the deepening -gloom of the forest, with Mona close beside him, he told what it was in -his heart to tell--all about the police, and the fight and the running -away, and now the losing of his father. - -"There isn't anyone else but my dad," he half sobbed at the end. "I -even lost my dog. I haven't got anything now--an' I wish I was dead!" - -"You don't," she reproved, her two hands holding one of his own -tightly, "and you _have_ got someone. You've got me. I'll take care -of you. I will, Peter. I promise. And you can have Buddy, and all my -pets--everything I've got. And--he will come back. Your father, I mean. -All we got to do is wait." Her eyes were glowing at him in the dusk. -"Why, your father is alive and he _can_ come back," she said straight -from the heart. "Mine can't. He is dead. And so is my mother." - -An emotion new and strange swept over Peter--a flash of dawning manhood -stirred to mysterious life by that note of something which had come -from Mona's lips, a woman of the future whispering to him, chivalry -calling, a boy's soul and a girl's rising for a moment above their -years to point out the way to a new tomorrow. - -Peter's heart grew warm again. He rose to his feet, and Mona stood -beside him. In the darkness they were very close. - -"I guess you're right," he said. "Dad won't stay away very long. And -I--I'm sorry about your father and mother, Mona. And if Aleck Curry -bothers you again, or kicks the dog----" - -And so they went back through the dusk to Five Fingers, and this time -it was Peter who held firmly to Mona's hand. - - - - -CHAPTER VII - - -His first night in Five Fingers would always remain an unchangeable -page in the history of Peter McRae. Time would not dim nor obliterate -it but would only mellow the memory of its loneliness and its torture. -In the hours when it seemed to him his world had come to an end, -years pressed their weight of experience and understanding upon his -shoulders, and for a little while pain and the poignancy of fears made -him old, and he ceased to be a boy of fourteen. - -Simon McQuarrie had left a candle burning in the loft of his cabin. -By its light he had made Peter's bed, and had hugged the boy to him -for a moment before saying good night; and in going, with his head -and shoulders above the trap in the floor, he had paused for a moment -to say: "Don't worry, Peter. They won't get your father. And you must -sleep, because Mona will be looking for you early in the morning." - -Then he had gone. - -And now, two hours later, Peter was alone and still awake. The candle -had burned out, but the moon was coming up over the eastern forests. It -was a splendid spring moon, big and round and full of golden fire, and -its glow came in a flood through the open window of the loft. - -At the window sat Peter, huddled and quiet. He knew Simon was sound -asleep. All of Five Fingers was asleep. From the window he counted six -or seven of the dozen log homes which made up the little settlement, -and their windows were dark. They were floating in a great, yellow sea -of moonlight. He could make out the dark walls of the forest and the -silvery sheen of Middle Finger Inlet. - -From beyond that sheen came the low murmur of Lake Superior beating -against the rocks half a mile away. In springtime there was always this -moaning of the big lake at Five Fingers, even on still nights when -there was no wind. - -And tonight it was so quiet Peter could hear his own heart beating. At -times it hurt him. It rose up in him somewhere and choked him. Once or -twice, if Simon had been awake, he could have heard the boy sobbing. - -But Peter was beyond that now. His pale, thin face looking at the moon -over the tree-tops had grown tense and set in its understanding and -grief. Out under that moon his father was being hunted. Men were after -him--men who would kill him or hang him if they caught him. He was no -longer puzzled. His father was gone forever, just as his mother was -gone, only she was dead. - -He gulped hard, and his fingers clutched at the rough wood of the -windowsill. He could not remember his mother except as a beautiful -dream. She had come to him sometimes that way, and he had felt the soft -warmth of her hands and the sweet breath of her kisses in his sleep. -In his brain he treasured a picture of her, but it was only a picture, -while his father had been very real. Since the first day he could -remember, it was his father who had made up his world, his father who -had been pal, comrade and mother to him all his life, and who now--out -under the light of the wonderful moon--was being hunted by men with -guns, just as they had so often hunted the big white rabbits in the -swamps. - -Again and again as he sat alone at the window his mind went over the -events which had passed so swiftly since the day before yesterday, when -his father galloped in from the railroad settlement with the officers -of the law at his heels, and together they ran into the safety of the -woods, leaving the little cabin in the clearing which had been their -home. After that had come the longer flight, two days and nights of -exhaustion and hunger, and the final parting when they heard the axes -of the men at Five Fingers. It was when he came to that point his heart -rose up and choked him, and he wanted to cry out in the stillness of -the night. If only his father had put greater faith in his strength -and years, and had let him go along! He could run, and hide, and live -without anything to eat for a long time, and he could sleep on the -naked ground, and swim streams, and he wasn't afraid. But his father -had sent him on alone to this strange settlement of Five Fingers, where -he had met Mona, and Aleck Curry, and Simon McQuarrie.... - -When his thoughts came to Mona a bit of comfort crept into Peter's -soul. It wasn't so bad, with Mona near him. She had come into his -life in a most unexpected and beautiful way, and had helped him whip -the beast of a boy who had kicked her dog. He could still feel the -warm thrill of her little hand as she led him through the woods and -slashings into Five Fingers and he could see her eyes glowing at him in -the dusk as she said: - -"Your father is alive and he _can_ come back. But mine can't, Peter. He -is dead. And so is my mother." - -Peter could almost hear her speaking those words now, whispering them, -as if she realized in that instant the sacredness of the trust he had -put in her. And she was right. His father was alive, and could come -back, while hers.... - -The distant murmuring of the lake came to him faintly. It made him -shiver. Out there, somewhere, her father and mother had been drowned. -He wondered if Mona was awake and was also listening to that sound, so -faint at times that it was like a breath of air. It must haunt her, he -thought. It was always telling her about what had happened, just as -she had told it to him, coming down the slope into Five Fingers, and -probably it made her cry when she was alone nights. It was terrible -to remember one's father and mother dying like that, both at once, and -Peter shuddered. - -It made him a little ashamed, too. The sense of manhood which his -father had planted and nurtured in him began to rise above his own -hopelessness and heartache, and he leaned out of the window to look at -the cabin of Pierre and Josette Gourdon, where Mona lived. That was -dark, too. But Mona might be awake. He hoped so. Next to his father she -was the biggest thing that had ever come into his life, and thought of -her, and of her nearness, and of her lying awake thinking about him, -sent a warm and comforting feeling through him, just as her gentle -hands and soft eyes had brought him a mothering consolation in the -earlier darkness of the forest that night. - -It seemed to him, now that the reaction had come in his mind, that -everything about the night was assuming a new aspect. - -It was the kind of night he and his father loved, and its stillness, -its shadows and floods of yellow moonlight brought him a new message. -_Their_ moon, they had always called it. - -"You were born on a night with the moon shining like that," his father -had told him. "It came in at the window to look at you, and it was -mighty pleased." - -So the moon had always been a personal thing to Peter, just as it -had been to his father. And the Man in the Moon, Peter observed, was -in a friendly humor tonight. There was a sly look in his eyes and an -odd twist to his mouth, as if he were winking at Peter and telling him -how beautifully everything was coming out, both for his father and for -himself. Between Mona and the moon the sickness grew less in his heart, -and remembering he had not said the prayer which his father had never -let him forget, he bowed his face on the windowsill and whispered the -words to himself. - -When he raised his head a big gray shadow was floating silently in the -air just outside his window. It was one of the huge owls which turn -snow-white in winter. He could hear the soft flutter of its wings as -it twisted and turned and disappeared, more like a ghost than a living -thing. And then a swift patter of little feet came on the roof of the -cabin. It was another of the night folk, a flying squirrel. A few yards -away was the big tree in which it must hide itself during the day. He -wondered if the owl and the winged squirrel were among Mona's pets. - -His ears began to attune themselves to the different sounds of the -night. It wasn't so empty, after all. There was always the murmur of -the lake, and he could hear the occasional soft thud of hoofs in the -meadow, and the mooing of a cow. A loon sent out its quavering love -call from somewhere beyond the dark wall of the forest, and a wolf -howled to the north. Now and then, deep in his sleep, Simon McQuarrie -gave a snort in the room below. It was as if he were under water and -came up at intervals for air, Peter thought. - -Then he heard an odd chuckling, and a porcupine came waddling through -the moonlight toward the cabin. Peter could see him clearly. He was -big and fat and stupidly happy, and chattered like a cooing baby as -he approached Simon's woodpile. And at last the tenseness went out of -Peter's face, and his eyes brightened in the moonglow, and he pursed -up his lips to whistle down softly at Porky. He wanted to warn him -of the doom which Mona had said hovered over all porcupines at Five -Fingers. But the creature was deaf and dumb and blind. He found the -axe which Simon had forgotten, and grunted his satisfaction. Then he -humped himself into a comfortable ball and his teeth began working like -swiftly beating little hammers upon the helve of the axe, which was -salty with the sweat of Simon's hands. Peter whistled. - -"Get out, Porky!" he called softly. - -He was considering the necessity of going down to save Simon's axe -when a second chattering shadow waddled in out of the moonlit open -between the cabin and the forest. It was another porcupine, a huge, -black fellow who was carrying on an animated debate with himself as -he advanced. Peter grinned. He loved to hear the porcupines talk to -themselves. But he had never heard one quite like the big black fellow. -It was as if a mother pig were coming with a litter of little grunting -ones at her heels, and he wondered if Simon would sleep through it all. - -The newcomer made straight for the woodpile and the gray possessor of -the axe helve turned to meet him. The axe was between them, a sweet -morsel for porcupine teeth. Low, throaty sounds floated up to Peter. It -might have been a meeting of brothers, or of sweethearts, or at least -of very good friends if one judged by those sounds. - -Then came a swift, flail-like movement of tails, followed by grunts -and squeals and blows that sent a thrill of excitement through Peter. -It was a glorious fight from the beginning, and somehow the big black -fellow made him think of Aleck Curry, and in his eagerness to see the -battle he leaned half out of the window. - -The fighters rolled directly under him and he heard loose quills flying -against the cabin as the tails struck out like clubs. - -For a time he could not see who was getting the bad end of it. Then the -black, who was more than ever like Aleck Curry, got a swing from the -gray's tail that must have filled him with quills wrong-side in, for he -let out a wail and began to retreat. - -Not until then did Peter hear a sound from the room below him. A door -opened. In another moment Simon McQuarrie came round the end of the -cabin. - -Simon was a tall and ghostly figure in his nightgown, which fell to -his knees, and in his hand he carried a club. The club rose and fell -and Peter heard a sickening blow. A feeling of horror shot through him. - -"Don't kill the white one!" he cried. "Don't kill it!" - -Simon McQuarrie, about to make for his second victim, looked up at the -window in surprise. Peter saw the gray porcupine ambling back toward -the timber, grunting and protesting as he went, and Simon made no -effort to overtake him. - -"They were having a fine fight," explained Peter. "That black one was -Aleck Curry, and the other was licking him. He was smaller, too." - -For a space the Scotchman stood silent in the moonlight. Then he asked, -"Have you been asleep, Peter?" - -Peter shook his head. "No." - -"What have you been doing?" - -"Just looking at the moon." - -Simon turned slowly, with a suspicious upward glance at Peter. - -"Better go now," he advised. "If you don't I'll ask you to come down -and sleep with me." As he disappeared round the end of the cabin, his -scant nightgown flapping above his long and bony legs, Simon muttered -under his breath: "Donald was wrong in having me tell the lad. Better -to have lied and never let him know. As it is----" - -An expression which only Donald McRae would have understood settled in -his face, and he paused for a moment at his door to look across the -open where Pierre Gourdon's home lay in the radiance of the night. He -could see the window of the room in which Mona slept, and the lines -about his stern mouth softened. - -"Poor little devils, both of them," he said, and went in to his bed. - -Peter heard the door close. It seemed easier for him now to lie down -upon the blankets. The moonlight streamed in upon him, and Peter could -_feel_ it. There was always that something warm and comforting about -the moon. He closed his eyes, and his thoughts no longer brought a -lump into his throat or hurt him. It was as if an older mind were -helping him over certain difficult places. It assured him his father -was safe. The police would not get him, and it would not be long before -he returned. If he failed to do that he would surely write, and Peter -could then go to him. - -He began to think of Mona. She was, after all, the pleasantest thing he -had ever had to think about, in spite of his happiness with his father. -He reviewed the fight of that day and grew warm with anticipations -of tomorrow and a renewal of hostilities. His hands clenched when he -pictured Aleck Curry with his ugly face and big, heavy body, but they -relaxed when he visioned Mona as she had taken part in the fight, -with her shining black hair streaming about her and flaming eyes so -beautiful he had at first been afraid to look at them. In his life in -the wilderness he had never had much to do with girls, but here was -one who pleased him completely, and all the ideals which his father -had built up in him were roused and set on fire. His mother must have -been like Mona when she was a little girl, because it seemed to him his -father had always pictured her like that. - -Then he grew uneasy and shame crept a little upon him. It made him -squirm in his blankets to think that Aleck Curry would have whipped him -if Mona hadn't joined in those last two or three minutes of the fight. -That Aleck was bigger and older than he, and that he had fought under -the disadvantages of hunger and exhaustion, did not satisfactorily -explain his own failure to Peter. He was glad his father had not seen -that fight, even though he had been taken at a great disadvantage. -But _Mona_ had seen it. She had seen him on the ground in those final -moments, with Aleck about to pommel him into disgraceful submission, -and she had come in to save him. - -There was only one thing to do under the circumstances, and the -inspiration of it comforted him. He would go out early in the morning, -hunt up Aleck Curry and lick him. He was sure he could do it now, even -though he was smaller and lighter than Aleck, for he would be rested -and would have a good breakfast to start with. - -He fell asleep. The big owl hooted softly from the top of a stub near -the mill, and the flying squirrel was joined by its mate in a game of -tag on the roof. The moon sailed higher, and under it a buck and a doe -crossed within a stone's throw of Peter's window. All this Peter missed -in an excitement of his own as his unsettled mind traveled swiftly -from one dream to another. First he was fleeing with his father, and -they were pursued by a horde of enemies, and all of these enemies were -Aleck Currys. After that he dreamed of Aleck and Mona, and he fought so -fiercely, with Mona's dark eyes and hair filling his vision, that Simon -heard him twisting and groaning and climbed quietly up the ladder from -below to look at him. - -For a long time the stern Scotchman watched Peter, and in the fainter -light of the moon which now filled the room a miracle of change passed -over his face and it became as gentle as a woman's. No one, since long -years ago, had ever caught that gentleness in Simon McQuarrie's face. - -"It seems only yesterday," he whispered softly to himself, in a moment -when Peter's pale face lay quietly in the crook of his arm. "Only -yesterday, Helen." - -Something trembled inside him, and he knew the mother was in that room -with Peter, watching over him as he had seen her many times in those -years when he had cared for the two, those beautiful but pitiless years -when he had hardened his heart against all hope for himself in his -devotion and duty to his hunted friend, Donald McRae. Only yesterday! -And yet many hard and tedious years had passed since then, and through -them he had gone like a piece of iron that is hardened into steel by -the alchemy of fire. Tonight had come the mysterious change. He climbed -down softly, his heart trembling. He loved Peter. He loved him as he -had loved the mother. - - - - -CHAPTER VIII - - -Peter awoke with the dawn, and with that dawn he saw Five Fingers -rousing itself into life. All the sweetness of spring was in the air. -The delicious morning song of the robins was the first cheering sound -that came to him. It was like a beautiful chorus. - -"A man cannot be so wicked that the song of a robin will not stir some -good in his heart," Donald McRae had taught Peter. "God made that song -to begin the day with, and only those buried in the darkness of cities -cannot hear or understand the message. Always think kindly of people in -the cities, Peter. They are unfortunate." - -And Peter thought of that as he looked out of the window on the few log -cabins at Five Fingers. He had never seen a real city, but here, with -the rose-flush of the rising sun painting the eastern sky beyond the -forests, was everything of beauty and glory his mind could conceive. -"Here," he seemed to hear his father saying, "is God." - -Silvery wreaths of smoke were rising from the stone and clay chimneys -of Five Fingers. He heard the gulls and caught the flash of their white -wings over the Middle Inlet. Down there, too, was the squat, black -tug owned by Aleck Curry's father--the tug which came up from Fort -William three or four times a year to carry the lumber away. It was -the one ugly thing he could see, and he was glad it did not belong at -Five Fingers, and that Aleck Curry did not belong there. Already he -was taking a possessive interest in the place, and his heart felt a -gloating pride in the fact that he was a part of it, and Aleck Curry -wasn't. - -He saw men coming up from the bottoms, leading horses. A cheery whistle -came to him clearly. The mill, nearly buried in its big yellow piles -of sawdust, was only a little distance away, and a man was stoking the -boiler with wood. The cloud of smoke that rose out of the tall stack -was white and clean, and Peter knew how sweetly it smelled. He sniffed, -trying to catch it. And then a wriggling creature came under his window -and began making contortions as it looked up at Peter. It was Buddy, -the pup. He was just the kind of dog Peter loved, all knots and knobs, -with big feet and joints and a head twice too heavy for his body. - -"He's growing," thought Peter, as he called down to him. "He's going to -be a fine dog." - -A few minutes later Poleon Dufresne passed Simon's cabin with a pail -of milk and heard the Scotchman whistling. This was unusual, and he -paused to thrust in a curious face at the door, smiling good morning. -Simon was getting breakfast with an almost boyish enthusiasm, and when -Poleon saw Peter scrubbing his face his jaws fell apart in amazement. - -"Morning, Poleon," greeted Simon. "This is Peter--Peter McRae, and I've -adopted him. He's the son of an old friend of mine, and he came last -night as a sort of surprise. He's going to bide with me." - -This was a lot of information for Simon to give on any one subject -at any one time, and Poleon came in with his pail, grinning his -appreciation. He laid a hand affectionately on Peter's shoulder and -told him how glad the people in Five Fingers would be to have him among -them. Peter liked Poleon's round, rosy face with its cheery blue eyes, -and when about to go Poleon turned a third of the contents of his pail -into an earthenware crock and said to Peter: - -"That's for you, boy. Simon here doesn't care for milk, but he must get -plenty of it now for you. There's nothing like milk to make you fat and -healthy." - -It was Saturday. Peter learned that fact half an hour later while he -was helping Simon wash the breakfast dishes. It came from a voice -behind them, and Peter turned to find Mona standing in the door. - -"It's Saturday and there is no school," she announced. "So I have come -to get you acquainted with Five Fingers, Peter." - -An enormous thrill ran through Peter. She was even lovelier than -yesterday as she stood with her slim little figure framed in the -doorway. Her beautiful dark eyes were shining, and looking at him, -and her wonderful black hair was plaited in a braid that looked like -a rope of velvet. Even Simon's undemonstrative face broke into an -appreciative smile. - -Once he had told Pierre Gourdon it was not good for a child to be as -beautiful as Mona. But a new thought came into his mind this morning, -a strange and weird thought for a Scotchman of his nature, and he -chuckled softly as he told Peter to wipe his hands and go with Mona. -Then he went to her, and tilted up her pretty chin, and ran his hand -over her smooth hair that was like silk to his work-hardened palm. He -had never done that before, and Mona was surprised. She was surprised, -too, at the changed look in his face and eyes. He seemed to be a -different Simon McQuarrie from the one she had always known. - -"So you helped Peter whip that young rascal Aleck Curry, did you?" he -asked with a wicked note of exultation in his voice. - -She flushed a little and cast a swift glance at Peter. - -"Peter had him whipped when I went in," she replied loyally. - -"No, I didn't," corrected Peter. "He was just going to mess me up in -proper shape when you hit him with the stick. But I can lick him today." - -Mona smiled proudly at him. Then she looked sternly at Simon. - -"You killed one of my porcupines." - -"I had to," explained Simon. "He was eating my axe. Peter will take him -over to the cemetery for you." - -He returned to his work and Peter and Mona went to the dead porcupine. -Buddy was sniffing suspiciously at the corpse, and at sight of the red -stains on the earth Mona shivered. - -"He didn't need to kill it," she said. "I heard you call to him to let -the white one go. He could have let this one go, too." - -"You heard me?" - -She nodded. "I saw the candle in your room until it went out. Then I -sat at the window in the moonlight. I didn't feel like sleeping." - -"Neither did I," said Peter, his heart beating strangely. "I--I was -wondering if you were awake. Did you hear the lake?" - -"I always hear it." - -He picked up the dead porcupine, feeling that he had said something -wrong. Mona took the other foot and together they carried their burden -beyond the farthest cabin to a high little meadow at the foot of a -green knoll. Here, Peter observed, were many scores of green little -mounds, and many others over which the grass had not grown, and still -others very fresh. And everywhere among them flowers were growing. Mona -pointed out a spade, and he dug a hole. When the porcupine was buried, -Mona said: - -"That is the twenty-seventh this spring. I wonder why porcupines like -cabin doors and windowsills and axes and table legs when there are so -many nice things to eat in the woods?" - -"It's the salt," explained Peter. "They like to eat anything somebody -has handled. Once, when we were away, they ate our windows until all -the glass fell out." - -"I put salt in the woods, lots of it," said Mona. "The deer like it -too, and the rabbits, and the mice, and almost everything alive except -the birds. Uncle Pierre has the tug bring me a barrel of salt every -time it comes. Last time that beast of an Aleck Curry stole pepper from -the tug's kitchen and put it in my salt." - -"I'm going to lick him today," he assured her. - -In her possessive little way she took his hand as they walked back. "I -don't want you to fight him, not unless you have to, Peter. He isn't -worth it. You have nice eyes, and they don't look good swollen half -shut. I wish mine were blue." - -"I don't," declared Peter with a suddenness that startled him. -"They're--they're----" - -"What?" she insisted. - -"They're--awfully pretty," finished Peter bravely. "I never seen--I -mean I never _saw_ such pretty eyes." - -He felt like wriggling down into his collar, and looked away from her. -Mona blushed, and if Peter had observed he would have seen her eyes -sparkling. - -"And I wish I had light hair, too--like yours," she added. - -"I _don't_," he fought manfully. "Your hair is--prettier than your -eyes. When I first saw you, there in the sun, I thought----" - -"What did you think?" she asked with interest. - -"I dunno. I dunno what I thought." - -He was tremendously uncomfortable, and was glad the musical droning -of the sawmill began just then. That was another thrill, the clean, -high-pitched cutting of steel through wood. There is something chummy -and companionable about the sound of a sawmill at work in the heart of -a forest country. It is friendly even to a stranger and makes one feel -at home, and when Mona and Peter came to the mill the half-dozen men -there were going about their duties as if they were a pleasure instead -of work. They were a happy lot. Peter could see that with his boyish -eyes, and his heart responded quickly to the gladdening pulse of it. - -Then Mona ran up quickly behind a man who was twisting a log with a -long cant hook and tried to cover his eyes with her hands. In a moment -the man had turned and had her up off the ground, tight in his arms. -Mona kissed him, and Peter thought he had never seen the face of any -man filled with a happiness like that which he saw in Pierre Gourdon's. -And Mona, holding out her hand to Peter, said: - -"This is my Uncle Pierre. Come and kiss him, Peter." - -And there, with both the young folk in his arms, and the big, steel saw -laughing and wailing in their ears, Pierre Gourdon, into whose heart -God had put a passionate love for all children, kissed Peter. In thus -welcoming the boy he drew him so close that for an instant Peter's -face touched Mona's soft cheek, and so warm and sweet was it that -through all the years that followed Peter never forgot that wonderful -moment. - -Then Pierre Gourdon said, holding Peter off at arm's length, and -looking at his eye which was still dark, and his lip which was swollen: -"So you are the young man who whipped Aleck Curry for annoying Mona? -Why, Aleck is half again as big as you----" - -"And I didn't whip him," interrupted Peter. "Not alone. I was tired and -empty as a drum. He was licking me when Mona jumped in. She helped a -lot." - -Laughter filled Pierre's eyes, and then a shadow followed it. The -gentleness in his face gave way to a stern resolution. - -"Aleck is not a good boy," he said. "I will not have him troubling you, -Mona. If he does it again you must tell me." - -"She needn't do that," protested Peter quickly. "I'll take care of her. -I'm going to lick Aleck Curry today." - -Pierre Gourdon looked at the boy, and the sternness left his face. -"Peter, you're a man. I love boys like you." He ran his hand over -Mona's silken hair, just as Simon McQuarrie had done. "I guess I won't -worry over you and Aleck any more, _Ange_. I think Peter is going to do -what he says." - -"I won't have him fight Aleck," declared Mona. "If he does, I'll fight, -too!" - -When they had left Pierre and were going toward the Gourdon cabin, -Peter asked, "What did he mean when he called you _Ange_?" - -"It's a name he gave me the day he brought me out of the water when -my mother and father were drowned," explained Mona softly. "It means -something much nicer than I am." - -"I don't believe it," said Peter. "What does it mean?" - -"Angel." - -"Oh!" Peter was silent for several moments. Then he said: "I like it. -I guess that was what I must have been thinking when I saw you first -yesterday, there in the sun, with your hair all down and the flowers -around you. First off you sort of scared me." - -"I _must_ have looked ugly enough to scare anyone," agreed Mona -depreciatively. "But I like my hair down when I'm alone in the woods." - -"So do I," said Peter. "And you wasn't ugly. What's that building down -there, with the box-like thing on top of it? Looks like a church." - -"It is--and our school. Uncle Joe's wife, Marie Antoinette, teaches -us. She's beautiful, Peter. Uncle Pierre says she is as lovely as Aunt -Josette was when she was young. Aunt Josette is beautiful, too. You've -been to school a lot, haven't you?" - -"Not so much." - -"But you talk well." - -"My father taught me. Every day I studied, and he heard my lessons, -even when we were on the trail. My dad was----" He stopped, the odd -thickening coming in his throat again. - -"I love your father," said Mona gently. "Last night I prayed he'd come -back, and he will. Uncle Pierre says it was prayer that brought me to -him. He says prayer is always answered, if you believe hard enough." - -"My dad says that, too." - -"And I'm going to pray every night, Peter. I'm going to pray for your -father to come back. _And he will._" - -The little doubt which had planted itself like a seed in Peter's mind -was growing in spite of Mona and the beauty at Five Fingers. "If he -comes back they may catch him," he said. "And if they do that----" -She saw a queer, twisted look like a shadow in his face, and her -fingers tightened. "They'll kill him," he finished. "That's what Simon -McQuarrie says." - -After a moment Mona said: "I wish we could tell Uncle Pierre. He always -brings things out right. And this is coming out right, too, Peter. I -know it." - -Without logic, she was sweetly comforting. Her gentle assurance was a -buoy to which Peter's courage and hope clung tenaciously, and he stole -a hungry look at her when her eyes were turned away, and his heart beat -fast. In a vague and unanalytical way the thought was in his mind that -God could not help answering Mona's prayers. If He did not, there could -be no God. And he was sure there was one--just as sure as he was of the -trees and flowers and birds and blue sky all about them. Donald McRae -had planted that faith deeply in his boy. - -"Did you ever have many prayers answered?" he asked her. - -"Yes, when I prayed _hard_," she replied. "I'm praying for something -to happen to Aleck Curry, too. And it's going to happen, Peter. I know -it's going to happen." - -"What?" - -"Anything--almost. I wish the crows would pull his hair out!" - -Suddenly she stopped herself with a jerk. "There he is now--down there -on the Finger. He is throwing stones at my gulls!" - -"I'll stop him," said Peter, starting off. - -She caught him by the arm. "I won't like you if you fight. Aunt Josette -and Marie Antoinette are waiting for us, and they won't like you -either." - -She took possession of him again, and Peter gave himself up, though he -could hear a challenging shout coming faintly from Aleck. And then out -of the door of one of the cabins came a tall, slim woman with a face so -sweet in its smile of welcome that Peter smiled back shyly, even before -Mona had said, "This is my Aunt Josette." - -For an hour after that he was meeting people at Five Fingers. First -there was Marie Antoinette, who was younger than Aunt Josette, but only -a little prettier, Peter thought, and who said she would have a place -for him in school next Monday morning. From one cabin to another Mona -made him go with her, until he had met the Poulins and Dufresnes and -Croissets and Clamarts and children and babies until he began to have -trouble in remembering their names. - -Then they came to the last cabin of all, and this cabin looked like a -doll's house to Peter. And the person they found in it was like a doll, -too. At first Peter thought she was a playmate of Mona's, for she was -only a little taller, with blue eyes and red lips and gold-brown curls -tied back with a ribbon. Mona introduced her proudly. - -"This is Adette Clamart, Peter--Jame Clamart's wife, and she -_graduated_ from the school of Ste. Anne de la Perade before Jame -brought her to Five Fingers! And the baby----" She dragged him to the -side of a crib and Peter looked down upon the round, cheerful face -of young Telesphore Clamart, eight months old. Telesphore eyed Peter -speculatively for a moment and then his countenance broke into a smile -and he held up a pair of chubby arms. Mona uttered a gasp of delight. -"He likes you, Peter! Put your head down. He wants to hug you." - -Peter felt himself growing red and hot as he bowed his head to young -Telesphore. The baby dug his fingers in his hair and squealed in -triumph. It was the first baby he had ever touched, and suddenly he -forgot the two girls and his embarrassment as he felt a soft little -mouth touching his cheek. He laughed back at Telesphore, and when the -baby freed his hair and he stood up straight again he thought Adette's -eyes, bright with the glory of motherhood, were almost as beautiful as -Mona's. He fumbled in his pockets to find something for Telesphore and -produced his jack-knife. - -"You can have that," he said, speaking directly at Telesphore. - -When they were about to go Adette put her hand affectionately on his -shoulder. "Mona told us what happened yesterday in the woods, Peter, -and Jame and I love you for giving Aleck Curry that beating. It was -splendid of you to fight for Mona like that!" - -In the clearing Peter said to Mona: "It isn't true. I didn't lick Aleck -Curry. Why do you tell them that?" - -"It is true," retorted Mona with an obstinate little toss of her head. - -"I was getting the worst of it when you came in with the stick." - -"No, you weren't. He was almost choking for breath. I couldn't help -hitting him with the stick--that's all." And then she added: "Why is -it you don't want me to think you whipped him? I've told everybody you -_did_!" - -Her question and a quick flash in her eyes sent a little thrill through -Peter. Was it possible Mona really believed he was getting the best -of the fight when she began pommeling Aleck Curry with the stick? He -flushed as he thought of his position at that moment, flat on his -back with his legs in the air and his arms helpless under Aleck's -weight, and Aleck himself just on the point of annihilating him! -Surely Mona could not have been blind in those moments. She must have -seen his peril, even if Aleck was panting for breath. Peter looked at -her, trying to measure the truth of the matter. But Mona's eyes were -innocent. If she was lying to him, she was doing it beautifully. - -In a vague sort of way the problem weighed itself in Peter's mind, and -he saw even more clearly that it was necessary for him to whip Aleck -Curry that day. The responsibility had now become a grim and insistent -one, for if Mona really _thought_ he had whipped Aleck, he must do it -in fact to save his own self-respect; and if she was shielding him from -embarrassment and shame, as he partly believed, by spreading a false -report of the combat, then it was doubly necessary for him to retrieve -himself and prove his prowess by whipping the tug master's bullying son. - -From the corners of his eyes he began questing for Aleck, who had -disappeared from the strip of sand below them, though he did this in -such a way that Mona did not guess his intention. She showed him her -pets, and it was then Peter saw something which he had never seen -before, though he loved all wild things. At Mona's soft little calls -the big-eyed moose birds which Peter called whisky jacks fluttered -about her and ate crumbs out of her hands. Down on the white sand of -the Middle Finger the gulls gathered close about them, like a flock of -chickens, begging in soft, throaty notes for the tidbits which she had -brought from the cabin. She sat down in the sand and they climbed over -her lap. One huge white fellow pecked at her shining braid. - -"That's Bobo," she explained. "He always wants to eat my hair!" A -one-legged gull hopped on her lap and began eating greedily the handful -of bread-crumbs which she offered him. "And this is Dominique. I call -him that to tease Dominique Beauvais, who is so fat and round. I don't -know how he lost his leg, but I believe Aleck Curry must have shot -it off a year ago. I wish Aleck's father would never bring him here -again!" - - - - -CHAPTER IX - - -It was almost noon when Peter left Mona and returned to Simon -McQuarrie's cabin. His head was in a whirl and his heart stirred -uneasily between joy and grief. Not for many minutes at a time had his -thoughts been away from his father. Even when Mona's dark eyes were -smiling at him and her sweet voice was talking to him, his father's -white and hunted face was a vision that never quite faded out of his -momentary flashes of happiness. Deep down in his heart was an emptiness -which even Mona could not fill, an aching pain which her beauty and her -gentleness softened but could not quite drive away. - -And Mona tried. In her heart, which was sometimes a woman's heart in -a child's breast, she knew that Peter was grieving and fighting to -hide his grief. The tragedy in her own life, and a sorrow which had -been deeper and more pitiless than Peter's, made her understand and -feel what even Adette in her young motherhood might not have sensed so -clearly. - -It seemed only yesterday to Mona that her mother had laughed and played -with her under the big, white sails of the ship, with her father -watching them, and only yesterday that the terrible thing had happened -in the sea. No one, not even Pierre Gourdon, knew how vividly those -hours and days came back to her at times. The forest and the wild -things shared her secret, but no others. Over the two graves in the -little cemetery at Five Fingers she had said quietly to Peter that -morning, "My father and mother, Peter"--and that was all. - -Something in her voice held Peter from asking for the story of that -frightful hour in the maelstroms of the Pit, where Pierre Gourdon had -saved her and her father and mother had died. But he felt it. It crept -into him and became a part of him, and even Pierre Gourdon would have -found it difficult to explain what was born in their hearts in those -moments when Peter looked at the big stone into which had been roughly -cut the words, "Paul and Mona Guyon, Died Sept. 27, 1900"--and then -said gently to the girl who stood fighting bravely at his side, "I'm -sorry, Mona." For to Pierre they were children. - -But there was something in Peter's soul that was struggling beyond -childhood as he returned to Simon's cabin. Three days, and this day -most of all, had shown him his first dim vision of the bridge which -spans the illusive way between boy and man. He had lost his father. -But his father was not dead, while Mona's was gone forever. Out of the -chaos in his mind these facts kept repeating themselves, and with them -came ever more insistently the desire to do something for Mona. And one -possible achievement loomed big--the whipping of Aleck Curry! - -Thought of it made his blood tingle. He did not ask himself what it was -that Aleck had done to incur Mona's displeasure. It was sufficient for -him to know that she was praying for calamity to fall upon his head. -She wanted the crows to pull his hair out. She had prayed for that last -night--when she had prayed for his father. And she was sure that God -answered prayer. - -But it was his own feud with Aleck that fired both his chivalry and his -hatred--memory of that moment in which the tug master's son had thrust -Mona's head back brutally in the edge of the forest, with his big, -coarse hands fastened in her hair. In his first encounter with Aleck -he had saved Mona but had failed to avenge the outrage. He was sure he -could do it now. - -Simon took him among the men after dinner and he became acquainted with -them all. They went back into the cuttings, and it was three o'clock -before Peter found himself alone. Then, instead of going back to Mona, -he circled in the edge of the timber until he came to the end of the -finger of evergreens that reached almost to the inlet. His heart gave -a jump when he saw Aleck on the tug shooting at the flying gulls with -a slung-shot. Peter had made up his mind to challenge his enemy calmly -and without excitement, as his father would undoubtedly have challenged -a man in a similar situation. But his plan changed suddenly. He picked -up a stone and hurled it with such accuracy that Aleck, seeing the -missile, dodged. Then he jumped ashore. - -Peter waited for him. He was not afraid, but his heart was beating -fast. Aleck seemed to have grown considerably overnight, Peter thought. -He was almost as big as Jame Clamart, and his face was red with an -exultant passion as he advanced, stuffing the slung-shot into one of -his pockets. There was no doubt this was just the opportunity Aleck -was looking for, and Peter retreated with caution into the balsams and -cedars. - -Aleck began to run--and Peter ran. He was light as a rabbit on his -feet, and as he hopped over logs and underbrush he heard Aleck crashing -like a big animal behind him. Twice he allowed his enemy to come almost -within reach of him, and then spurted ahead. At last, in the edge of a -little cut-over clearing, Aleck stopped. He was puffing and blowing and -his fat face was covered with sweat. - -"Runny-cat!" he choked derisively. "Runny-cat--runny-cat----" - -He caught himself in amazement as Peter turned and advanced toward him. -"Always smile when you're in a tight place," Peter's father had taught -him, and Peter tried bravely to live up to the rule. A fixed grin was -on his face. "I'm going to lick you," he announced cheerfully. "You're -nothing but a girl-beater and a windbag, an' your wind's all gone. I -wasn't running _away_ from you, Fatty--I was leadin' you _on_!" - -Aleck stood aghast, gulping hard to get his breath. It seemed -impossible that a boy so much smaller than himself would dare face him -with such monumental nerve. The bully in him was maddened by Peter's -next insult. "You're nothing but a girl-fighter--a hair-puller--a big -tub of fat," Peter informed him, "an' you'll be yelling for help when I -get half done with you!" - -And then Peter jumped in. He was quick. His fists were small but hard. -His wind was good. And the suddenness of his attack took Aleck off his -guard. The first blow was what Peter called a stomacher, and Aleck let -out a huge grunt. He bellowed anathema as he began to swing his heavy -arms. Peter reached his nose and one eye and his mouth. He was like a -hornet. His two small fists were swiftly moving hammers, and Aleck had -never experienced anything like the hail of their blows. They took away -from him what breath he had left; his nose began to bleed, his lip was -cut, and then Peter gave him another stomacher. Could he have lasted -for five minutes at the speed he was going, Aleck would have been a -wreck. - -But Peter was delivering all his metal in one smashing broadside. -Aleck floundered and puffed. One eye closed quickly. Blood smeared -his face and shirt. His big mouth began to swell. He was not fighting -muscle and brawn--but _nerves_. Every nerve in Peter's body was at its -breaking point, and he was like a thing gone mad. But he was beating -against a mass of dull and stupid flesh that had but few nerves to be -shocked into submission. His blows began to carry less force, and he -was compelled to breathe with his mouth open. He gave Aleck one last -slashing cut in the mouth and then his strength seemed to break. His -enemy's arms tightened around him and they went down together. Peter -was under, just as in that other tragic moment when Mona had saved him. -But there was no Mona to save him now, not even Buddy to nip at Aleck's -legs and heels. His one consolation was a final look at Aleck's face -close above him. He had done a pretty good job, anyway. In another -minute or two the bully would have quit. - -Both rested, gaining their breath. Then Aleck began to pommel, -weighting Peter down with his entire bulk. - -"I got you now," he managed to gasp. "I got you!" - -Peter saved his breath. He realized the futility of struggling against -that weight with what little strength was in him and concentrated -all his effort in shielding his face. Aleck was like a porpoise, and -every half-minute or so was compelled to cease his jabbing to get a -new supply of breath, a large amount of which he wasted in verbal -laceration of Peter's feelings as he pommeled with his fists. - -"I'm a tub of fat, am I?" he demanded at the beginning of each fresh -attack. "I'm a windbag, eh? A girl-beater, am I? Take that, an' that, -an' _that_! An' yell for your girl, Petey, yell for your girl to come -an' help you!" - -Then he would pause again to gather lung momentum for another attack. -Each assault left Peter a little bit more helpless than before. He -could feel himself swelling. One eye, he knew was entirely shut. The -other he saved by shielding it against his arm. His thoughts were -growing a little hazy, too, but all his mental and physical discomfort -was dissipated by the threat of a new horror which came in a sudden -inspiration of triumph from Aleck's swollen lips. - -"I'm goin' to yell for Mona," he said. "I'm goin' to have her come -and see what I've done to you! A tub of _fat_, am I? Take that--an' -that----" - -And he did yell when he got his wind again. In reality his challenge -for Mona to come and see her Petey licked was husky and not -far-reaching, but it seemed to Peter the whole world must hear it. -"An' when she comes I'm going to make you say you're licked or I'll -beat your head off," Aleck told him. And then he sat up straight, his -heavy bulk astride Peter's slim body, and called Mona's name again. -Peter's brain went hot. Was this to be the answer to Mona's prayer? Had -Mona really prayed, or had she fooled him? Faith rode over his doubt. -Mona wouldn't lie. She had prayed, and the trouble right now was with -him--and not with Mona's prayer. - -Aleck's swollen face was growing purple in its vociferous calling for -Mona. In a moment of safety Peter took a look at it with his one good -eye. A thrill shot through him when he found the weakness had left his -arms. He was breathing easily, too, in spite of Aleck's weight. If he -could only get up--if he could have just one more chance at that fat, -swollen face---- - -It was something quicker than Peter himself that moved him, an -intuitive flash, a lightning-swift call of his brain upon hidden forces -of self-preservation within him--a twist, a convulsion of his body, a -squirming upheaval so sudden and unexpected that Aleck lost his balance -with Mona's name half out of his mouth, and the other half never came. -He fell sprawling, and Peter was upon him again like a cat. Aleck's -face was his target, and he beat it--fast, furious and hard. He was -amazed at the return of his strength. It exhilarated and inspired him, -and in his mad enthusiasm he bit one of Aleck's ears. A roar of pain -came from the bully. Peter's fist lodged squarely in Aleck's eye, and a -second howl followed the first. - -At heart the tug-master's boy was a coward, like every bully, and in -another minute he was crying for quarter. But Peter's momentum was -too great to be stopped on such short notice. He continued, until in -the end Aleck Curry was a blubbering, wind-broken, thoroughly whipped -rascal, hiding his face in the earth. - -Not until then did Peter stand up, seeing the world dimly with one eye. -And then--in that glorious moment of triumph and answered prayer--his -heart stopped dead in his body for a single moment. Not ten feet away -from him stood Mona! Even with his fading vision he saw the wild flush -in her face and the joy in her eyes. The truth they betrayed turned his -darkening world suddenly into a paradise. _She had seen him whip Aleck -Curry!_ - -He turned to Aleck. "Get up!" he said. "Get up or I'll kick in your -ribs!" - -Aleck dragged himself to his knees, then slouched to his feet. He was a -pitiable sight. His eyes were little slits. His face was swollen until -it looked as though he had the mumps. He was blubbering and gasping for -his breath, and for a moment he did not see Mona. - -"Are you licked?" demanded Peter, coming close to him. - -Aleck drew back and put up a shielding hand. "I guess I got enough," he -conceded. - -"If you ain't sure--I mean if you _aren't_ sure--I'll finish it," said -Peter. - -"I got enough." - -"Then gimme the slung-shot." - -Aleck surrendered the weapon. In that moment he caught a dim vision of -Mona. He gulped and swallowed a lump in his throat. - -"Now promise Mona you won't bother her any more. Promise--or I'll lick -you again!" - -"I promise." - -"An' you won't throw stones at her gulls?" - -"No." - -"All right, Fatty. Now go on back to the tug. _And stay there!_" - -He watched Aleck until he had disappeared among the cedars. Then, his -business done, he turned toward Mona. A little shyly, with shining -eyes, she came to him. He wiped his eye. He could just see her. - -"Oh, Peter!" she whispered softly. He could feel her soft little -handkerchief at his face, just as he had felt it that first day in the -edge of the forest. And she was saying, "Peter--you're glorious!" - -And then something happened that sent a tremble through the world on -which Peter stood. Raising herself on tiptoe, Mona kissed him softly -and sweetly on his swollen lips. - -"There, that is what Aleck Curry has wanted all the time, and I'm -_giving_ it to you. Say thank you, Peter!" - -"Thank you," said Peter. - - - - -CHAPTER X - - -Peter was conscious of the fact that he had lived a long time in the -last three days and four nights. His adventures during that brief -period of time had run the entire gamut of human emotions, with the -possible exception of a desire to laugh, and his fourteen years of life -seemed entirely out of fact. This philosophy did not strike Peter, but -it did work into the troubled soul of Simon McQuarrie as he told Pierre -Gourdon why it was that Peter's father was a hunted man, fleeing for -his life, and how it had come about that Peter was now in Five Fingers -seeking refuge with him. - -"And I'm going to keep him," he said. "I love the boy." - -What Simon had to say struck deep into Pierre Gourdon's heart, for it -recalled the day of years ago when he had made his great fight in the -sea to save a strange woman and her little girl, and had succeeded -in bringing only the child, Mona, ashore. And Mona had grown to be a -part of his soul. So when Simon had finished, Pierre nodded his head -thoughtfully and said: - -"Mona brought Peter to me today. He has the making of a man in him. And -he has promised to whip Aleck Curry if he troubles Mona again." He -chuckled and shrugged his shoulders. "Aleck is almost twice as big as -Peter," he added. "But the boy has courage. It may happen. And--we will -make this a home for him, Simon." - -"And if that round-headed young blackguard of an Aleck sets upon Peter -again," said Simon slowly, "I'll make his father take it out of his -hide or never sell him another foot of lumber!" - -The gentle smile did not leave Pierre's eyes. A forest man, and son of -many generations of wilderness people, a warm thrill of superstition -and an immeasurable faith in the God that had made his beautiful world -lay deep in his soul. Simon guessed what was in his mind when he saw -him looking at a green patch of flower-strewn slope where lay the -graves of Mona's father and mother. - -The smile faded slowly from Pierre's face, and a little of anxiety, of -dread almost, replaced it. - -"The years have been kind to us," he said, speaking more to himself -than to Simon. "It has been a long time since Dominique Beauvais and -I brought our wives through these forests for the first time, and now -there are more than fifty of us here--all our own people and friends. -There has been little of tragedy and much of happiness. The plot up -there is empty--except for Mona's people. Sometimes--I am afraid." - -"Peace and comfort have been with us," agreed the Scotchman. Behind -them were the yellow piles of sawdust and the droning of the big steel -saw in Simon's little mill as it cut its way through the hearts of -timber. Simon loved the mill as Pierre loved the cabins he had helped -to build, for the mill had brought prosperity to the wilderness people. -It had also made necessary the ugly black tug which lay down in Middle -Finger Inlet. The creases grew deeper in Simon's hard face as his eyes -rested on the tug. "I wish some other man than Izaak Curry was taking -our lumber," he said. "Maybe I'd like him if it wasn't for his boy. If -that ugly lad ever puts his hands on Peter again, or on Mona----" He -hunched his gaunt shoulders with a suggestive grunt. - -Pierre was looking off toward the timbered line behind which Lake -Superior was hidden, half a mile away. For a moment after Simon's -threatening words he remained silent. His face was thoughtful. - -"It is strange," he said, giving voice to what was in his mind. -"Through children has come most of our happiness at Five Fingers, -Simon--and all of our tragedy. It was seven years ago that the strange -ship went to pieces out there and I saved Mona from the sea. She is one -of us now, and if she should be taken away our hearts would break. And -now comes Peter, whose mother is dead, and whose father is worse than -dead--for Peter--because he is an outlaw. It makes me think of a long -time ago when a boy came into Ste. Anne de Beaupré, away down on the -St. Lawrence, just as Peter came to Five Fingers three days ago. His -father and mother were dead of the plague back in the forest, and he -was ragged and starved, and the first person he met was a little girl, -just as Peter met Mona, and afterward he fought for her, and married -her when he grew old enough, and--she is Josette, my wife. It is almost -as if Peter was _me_. And I am wondering----" - -He did not finish. But Simon nodded understandingly. - -"Things happen like that," he said. - - * * * * * - -Out of the edge of the evergreen timber which ran down to the white -sands of Middle Finger Inlet Mona was leading Peter. One of his eyes -was entirely closed. His lips were swollen and his face was grimy -and red with the marks of battle. He was a little dizzy. There was a -ringing in his ears, and with his one good eye he could see the world -but dimly. The green forests were a blur. The sunlight was a mellow -glow. Mona's face, flaming with pride and joy, was an ethereal vision -of loveliness which he saw as if through a number of gossamer veils. -But in spite of his wrecked appearance his heart was beating with a -swift and glorious exultation. He had kept his promise to Mona, to -Simon McQuarrie and to Pierre Gourdon, for he had met and whipped Aleck -Curry. The tug-master's son had begged for mercy, and the riotous -thrill of it all was that Mona had looked upon that splendid battle and -the ignominious defeat of the overgrown bully upon whose head she had -earnestly prayed calamity might fall. - -Peter was fighting hard to maintain a calm and dignified mental balance -as they came out of the forest. Mona's fingers clung to his hand. Her -face was flushed and her eyes were shining like lovely stars. But it -was the kiss he felt most of all--that warm and sweet and amazingly -unexpected tribute she had placed on his lips in the moment of his -triumph. - -It was a new thing to Peter. Since his mother had died he had never -experienced anything like it and he could only faintly remember his -mother. Through the years since then his father had kissed him every -night before he went to sleep. But Mona's kiss was different. It -remained with him in a strange and embarrassingly persistent way. - -"I knew you could do it," Mona was saying, a tremble of pleasure in her -voice. "I just knew it, Peter! Does your eye hurt?" - -"Not much." - -"Can you see?" - -"Pretty good." - -She drew in a breath of deep and sincere appreciation. - -"I got there just in time to see you bite Aleck's ear," she said. "Oh, -how he did howl!" - -Peter's conscience smote him. - -"It ain't--I mean, it _isn't_ fair to bite another fellow's ear," he -explained, "but he stuck it in my mouth and I couldn't help it." - -"I wish you'd bit off his nose," said Mona. "If I were a boy and had -hold of his ear with teeth like yours, I wouldn't let go." - -A generous impulse filled Peter's breast. "I'll lick him again tomorrow -if you want me to," he offered. - -They went up the green slope from the inlet. Peter could hear better -than he could see. He could hear the soft croaking of the gulls and the -singing of the birds and the steely music of the saw in the mill. His -bad eye was toward Mona, so that unless he gave his head a full turn he -could not see her at all. A sweaty discomfort possessed him whenever -he believed she was making a fresh survey of the disfigurements Aleck -had fastened upon him. With his triumph rode the humiliating conviction -that his face was out of joint and not pleasant to look at. - -"It'll be better tomorrow," he said. - -"What will?" she asked. - -"My face. It must look sort of funny." - -"Not half as funny as Aleck Curry's," she comforted him. "And if anyone -dares to laugh at you--after what happened out there----" - -Peter caught the flash in her dark eyes. In spite of his protest she -pulled him through the open door of Jame Clamart's cabin. Adette was -bending over the crib of young Telesphore. Her big blue eyes widened -and she gave a little gasp when she saw Peter, his hand still held in -Mona's. - -And then, to his horror, she giggled. - -In an instant Mona was at her side. - -"Adette Clamart, don't you dare laugh!" she cried. "If you had seen it! -If you had seen him whip Aleck Curry----" - -"But his eye!" exclaimed Adette chokingly. "I mean _that_ eye, -Mona--the one that's open! It looks so--so funny!" - -"He's better-looking right now than Jame Clamart will ever be," -retorted Mona with fierce dignity. "He hasn't got a snub nose, -anyway--and that's what your baby is going to have when he grows up!" - -"But his _eye_!" persisted Adette, the giggling choking her. "Why is it -so round and glassy, Mona? It's just like the end of my new glass salt -shaker! Oh, oh, _oh_----" - -"_Adette Clamart!_" - -Peter, stunned and speechless, watched Mona drag Adette into the -kitchen. As if drawn by an irresistible magnet, his one eye followed -them, and Adette--looking back--gave a final little screech of laughter -before the door closed behind her. - -Peter heard the tittering beyond that door, and Mona's protesting voice -rising above it. He felt as if warm water had been poured down his -back. He was clammy, and his heart had sunk down into his middle. He -must be a terrible sight! - -Then he saw young Telesphore looking at him over the edge of the crib. -In one of his fat fists the baby clutched the knife which Peter had -given him earlier in the day. Peter went nearer and grinned at his -young friend. The effort hurt him. Telesphore's mouth fell slowly ajar -as he stared at Peter. He gave no sign of recognition. The jovial -comradeship of a few hours ago was gone and his gaze was steady and -perplexed. And then, as if desirous of possessing another strange -article of interest, he dropped his knife and reached for Peter's one -eye. - -Peter drew back. Adette was still laughing at him and Telesphore did -not recognize him! He remembered a little mirror hanging on the wall -and hurried to it. He was shocked. The thrill of triumph left him. -His pride sank--and he sneaked through the open door as quickly as he -could and trotted toward the big yellow piles of sawdust, hoping he -might reach them before Mona discovered his flight. Screened by the -piles, he came up behind Simon McQuarrie's cabin and almost bumped -into a little man with a great head of shaggy gray hair, a round face -with rosy cheeks, and eyes that were at first amazed and then twinkled -merrily as they looked at Peter. He was a stranger. But swiftly and -instinctively Peter liked him. Something in the way he rubbed his hands -together and chuckled built up a confidence and comradeship between -them immediately. Peter attempted a grin. - -"I been in a fight," he acknowledged cheerfully, for there was an -attitude and quality about this little man that demanded some kind of -explanation. "I been in a fight with Aleck Curry." - -"And he worsted you," guessed the merry stranger. - -"No, sir. I beat him up. I made him howl, and he promised never to -bother Mona or her pets again. Mona knows. She saw it." - -The little man placed a hand on his shoulder. It was a gentle hand. Its -touch comforted Peter. - -"Come in and let me fix you up, Peter. That is your name, isn't -it--Peter McRae?" - -"Yes, sir." - -They went into the cabin. The little man seemed at home in Simon's -place, for he found the medicine cupboard immediately, and was soon -busy poulticing and bandaging Peter's tortured face. - -"Aleck is a troublesome boy," he said. "I hope you punished him well. -But he is so much larger than you! Aren't you afraid of what may happen -next time?" - -Peter shook his head. "I know how to do it now. I run away from him -until he's winded, then beat him up. I'm going to lick him again -tomorrow if Mona wants me to." - -"Good!" smiled the little man. His face grew rosier and a light was -in his eyes that pleased Peter. "But I wouldn't try it on Sunday," he -advised. "It's bad luck to fight on the Lord's Day. If you'll wait -until Monday, I will take you out into the woods and show you a few -tricks that may help you! And if it can be quietly arranged, Peter, I -would like to see the next fight you have with Aleck Curry. - -"You like fights?" asked Peter. - -"In a good cause--yes." - -Peter was thoughtful as his cheerful and comforting companion fastened -a bandage over his closed eye. - -"Sunday isn't such a bad day for a fight," he argued. "You could get -Aleck Curry out in the woods somewhere, tell 'im you wanted to show him -something, an' I could sneak up--an' we could have it right there. I -ain't--I mean I'm _not_ afraid of Sunday!" - -"I'm not thinking so much of you as I am of myself," said the little -man, laughing softly. "I mustn't let pleasure come before duty--on -Sunday. You see, I have to preach tomorrow." - -"You have to--_what_?" - -"Preach. Down there in the little church. I'm Father Albanel, Peter." - -For the second time in the last half-hour Peter's earth seemed slipping -unevenly under his feet. _Father Albanel!_ Mona had told him about the -wonderful forest missioner who had no church and no set religion, but -who wandered through hundreds of miles of wilderness, preaching the -faith of God wherever he went, and who came every few weeks to Five -Fingers. "All the forest people love him, and he is so good I think -God must love him most of all," she had said. "He buried my father -and mother." And this was Father Albanel--this little man with the -jolly face and twinkling eyes, and he--Peter McRae--had invited him to -witness a fight on Sunday! He squirmed uneasily. He could feel the hot -blood rising up through his neck into his face. He wet his swollen lips -and tried to save himself. - -"I didn't know you was the preacher," he said. "I guess mebbe it isn't -right to fight on Sunday." - -Father Albanel's hands pressed gently upon the boy's thin shoulders. -"It's right to fight any time, Peter--when you have a just fight to -make. God loves a peacemaker but He also has no use for a coward--and -no one but a coward would refuse to fight for Mona. Will you come and -hear me tomorrow?" - -"I'll come," promised Peter. - -When Father Albanel had gone he climbed up the ladder to his bed of -blankets close under the sweet-smelling cedar roof and undressed. The -sun was low in the west and the afternoon song of the mill had ceased. -The robins were chirping their evening notes. It was supper time, and -Simon McQuarrie was late. Half an hour passed before Peter heard him -enter the cabin. He came directly to the ladder and climbed up. In the -twilight he bent over Peter. - -"Feeling sick, Peter?" - -"No, sir." - -Simon knelt upon the edge of the blankets. - -"I've heard about the fight," he said, in a voice which trembled a -little in its unaccustomed softness. "Mona told me, and then Adette, -and after that I went down to the tug to have it out with Izaak -Curry--and his boy. But--Peter--lad, when I saw Aleck I had no heart -to speak harshly to his father. I'm proud of you!" - -In the silence he bent his face nearer to Peter's. - -"Want something to eat, lad?" - -"I can't eat," explained Peter huskily. "My mouth is swollen shut." - -It was then Simon McQuarrie's hard lips touched Peter's cheek--the -first kiss he had given in many years. - -"Good night," he whispered. "You're Donald McRae's son--every inch of -you!" And Peter listened to his heavy feet as he slowly descended the -ladder. - - - - -CHAPTER XI - - -The moon did not come up that night. Darkness shut in the earth, -and with it came a warm and sullen stillness, broken only by low -intonations of distant thunder, advancing over the roofs of the forest. -A long time after Simon had gone Peter went to the window and sat -staring out into the gloom. The air was drowsily heavy and bore with -it the cooling breath of rain. After a little a swift whispering ran -through the forest and the first gentle patter of raindrops fell on the -cabin roof. The thunder crashed nearer and vivid flashes of lightning -cut like flaming knives through the blackness. In a moment, it seemed -to Peter, the storm broke in a deluge that set the log walls atremble. -It beat straight down, and did not come in at the window. Peter did not -stir. As long ago as he could remember his father had taught him to be -unafraid of the awesomeness and beauty of thunder and lightning, and -many times they had watched a storm together until the boy was thrilled -by the significance and the mystery of it. - -It was his father he missed tonight, the immeasurable thrill of his -voice, his presence and his love. Without reason his eyes strained -questingly in those brief moments when the lightning flashes filled -the world with a white radiance. In that light he could see the mill, -stark and vivid, like a skeleton illumined by fire, the trees, the -cabins, the stub in which the flying squirrels lived, and the edge of -the forest. He did not miss that half of his vision which he had lost -in his fight with Aleck Curry; he had forgotten the fight, and even -Mona Guyon. For a time his thoughts were alone with his father, and -with his yearning and his loneliness an unreasonable hope filled his -soul--the hope that his father would keep his promise and that out in -the glare of the lightning he would see him coming from the forest into -the clearing. His heart ached for that. He did not know it, but under -his breath he was sobbing a little. - -It was the truth, forcing itself upon him, the sullen, terrible -truth, driving him back from the window and sending him creeping -to his blankets, where he lay huddled and still. He had never -hated anyone, not even Aleck Curry. But he was beginning to hate -somebody--something--now. He hated the men who were after his father, -and he was beginning vaguely to hate that controlling force which both -his father and Simon McQuarrie had told him was the law. If his father -had only taken him! If they were only together now, away out there in -the forest, under a log or snuggled in the shelter of an overturned -root--anywhere--just so they were together! - -Why had his father lied to him, promising him he would come back in a -day or two? Why had he sent him on alone to Five Fingers? Peter choked -back the sob in his throat. _He knew._ It was because his father loved -him--because he knew that he could never return, and wanted him to have -a home with Simon McQuarrie. - -Burying his face in his arm, Peter gave up to his grief. It was a -silent, choking grief that ate into his heart but brought no cry to his -lips. - -The thunder and lightning passed and the rain settled into a steady -patter on the roof. It was like hundreds of gentle fingers tapping -within a few feet of Peter's head. It comforted him in his aloneness -and his grief. Mona was listening to that same friendly patter on the -cedar shingles. Tomorrow he would see her again, and his heart grew -warm. A part of her seemed to come into the darkness of his room, and -he could see her eyes shining and feel the touch of her hand--and -the kiss. And afterward he fell asleep, stirred by the strange and -comforting sensation that Mona was near him. - -But in sleep he lost her. He dreamed that he was trying to steal away -from Five Fingers to go in search of his father, but again and again -Simon McQuarrie caught him and brought him back. At last success came. -It was night, and he was crawling out through his window into the -moonlight, with a pack on his back. He jumped to the ground and made -for the woods. And then a strange thing happened. Where his father had -left him he found footprints on the earth. They were very clear, and -shining, as if made of bright silver, and they reached a long distance -ahead of him through the forest. It puzzled him that his own feet left -no trail at all while his father's trail was so clear. - -Days and nights seemed to pass as he followed persistently this silvery -trail. Then he came to a wonderful forest where the trees were so tall -their tops seemed lost against the sky. He walked on flowers. Great -masses of purple violets crushed under his feet, roses filled the air -with sweetness, wild geraniums nodded and bowed to him, and crimson -splashes of fire-flowers carpeted long aisles and broad chambers of -this mysterious paradise. - -He came at last to a waterfall. It did not roar, like waterfalls he had -known, but fell with a rippling song. Near the waterfall was a cabin, -and straight to the door of the cabin led the silvery trail! Peter -followed it. He opened the door and went in and his father was there. -He turned to greet Peter and did not seem surprised. His face was -smiling and happy, and tender with the old cheer and the old love. - -"_I thought you would come soon, Peter," he said. "I've been waiting -for you._" - -It was then Peter awakened. The patter of rain on the roof had ceased. -The night had cleared and was filled with stars, and a sweet warmth -came in through the open window. His dream had been overwhelmingly -real, and it left him with his heart beating strangely. He did not -sleep again but lay awake until the stars began to fade in the gray -light of dawn. Then he dressed himself, making no sound that might -disturb Simon. When he looked down from his window he almost expected -to see the marks he had made in his dream-leap. And it could be -done--that jump! He crept out backward, lowered himself full length -from the windowsill and dropped easily to the rain-softened earth. - -He went toward the stream which came down from the timbered hills and -ridges. The birds were beginning to sing, the robins first, twittering -their sweetest of all songs, with eyes half closed. It grew gently, -each soft note increasing in strength until the invisible chorus -filled the clearing with its welcome to the day. A thrush joined in. -Bright-winged bluebirds flew ahead of him, and sweet-voiced brush -sparrows cheeped and fluttered in their coverts, waiting for the sun. -Even the water dripping from the trees held in its sound the cadence of -whispered song. - -And as if this melody held a spell which they were powerless to -combat, or which inspired them to silence, the raucous jays were -still and aloof, the whisky jacks waited in fluffy brown balls, a -cock-of-the-wood clung to the side of a tree, his plumed head and -powerful bill making no sound upon the wood, and ahead of Peter a gray -owl retreated to a deeper and darker hiding-place. - -The forest was a cathedral, and its symphony seized upon Peter's soul -and lifted it on a great wave of anticipation and hope. - -His father was listening to the birds, too. He was waiting for the -sunrise. And a stirring thought came to Peter. If his father did not -return, he would do what he had done in his dream--go in search of him. -He was sure he could find him. - -He undressed at the edge of a pool in which the water was warm enough -for a swim, and came out of it a little later shivering--but still -thinking. The early rays of the sun were breaking over the tree-tops -when he returned to the clearing. His bad eye was half open and most of -the swelling was gone from his lips. Simon was getting breakfast and -was surprised that Peter should come through the door instead of down -the ladder. - -During the next hour his shrewd eyes saw a change in the boy. Peter was -restless and asked questions. Where would his father be likely to go? -Had he said anything about it in his letter to Simon? - -The Scotchman shook his head, guessing a little of what was in Peter's -mind. He explained the vastness of the forests. They reached a thousand -miles north and twice that far east and west, and one might lose -himself in them all his life. Their bigness did not discourage Peter. - -"I think I can find my father," he said. "If he doesn't come back I'm -going to try." - -The thought gripped him more tenaciously as the early hours of the -morning passed. Simon brushed and mended him, and said he should have -new clothes as quickly as they could be brought from the settlement on -the railroad, and he talked of Aleck's defeat, and of Mona, and of the -wonderful beaver colony two miles away, but the new thrill in Peter's -blood swept over all other things that might have interested him. - -He would not tell Simon, but he was going in search of his -father--soon. It might be that night, or the next, if he could get -things together for a pack. - -The sun was well up when he saw Mona come out of the Gourdon cabin, -and he went across the clearing to meet her. He was a little upset, -for he would have to apologize for running away from her in such a -boorish fashion yesterday. Mona's appearance this morning set his heart -aflutter. She seemed almost as old as Adette Clamart, and not at all -like the little fighting comrade who had helped him whip Aleck Curry at -their first meeting. She was dressed in spotless white, and her long -hair rippled and shone in the sun, and her dark eyes were so beautiful -that for a moment or two Peter could find nothing to say as she looked -at him. - -Mona was not entirely unconscious of her disconcerting loveliness, and -her eyes shone and the color grew prettier in her cheeks when she saw -its effect on Peter. - -"This is my Sunday dress," she said, helping him out of his -embarrassment. "Do you like it?" - -Peter shifted, and thought quickly. "You look like a snowbird, one of -the kind with a black topknot," he complimented her. "What do you think -of _me_?" And he turned so that she could see where Simon had mended -his rusty clothes. - -The sparkle died out of Mona's eyes, and in the moment when his back -was toward her Peter did not see the look of pity and tenderness that -took its place, and with it a shadow of something else, as if he had -hurt her. - -"I put on this dress for you. That's what I think of you, Peter." - -"I got better clothes," he explained, "but we came away so fast we -didn't have time to bring them." - -"I'm glad you didn't. I like you the way you are. Do you like me, -Peter--really?" - -"A lot." - -"How much?" - -Peter turned over various terms of measurement in his mind. "Next to my -father," he said. - -"Then why did you run away from me when I was in the kitchen with -Adette Clamart?" she asked. - -Peter flushed. "I dunno. Guess I didn't like to be laughed at. And the -baby--he didn't know who I was." - -The soft notes of a bell tolled over the clearing, and Peter drew -himself erect and breathed a little tensely as he listened to it. "I -used to hear a church bell like that, a long time ago," he said, -softly. "I can just remember it." - -She touched his arm as they listened. "I was coming to take you to -church. Father Albanel says you promised." - -She started down the slope, walking slowly, with Peter at her side. He -thought it was interesting how the sound of the bell suddenly opened -the doors of Five Fingers. - -Pierre Gourdon came out of his cabin with his wife, and Josette was -dressed in white, like Mona; and Marie Antoinette, waiting with Joe and -their two children to greet them, looked like a slim white angel to -Peter. Even Geertruda Poulin, who was almost as wide as she was high, -wore a dress as white as the gull's wings down in Middle Finger Inlet. - -The children were prim and starched and the men were in clothes which -Peter had not seen them wear before, their faces shining with the -effect of lather and sharp razors. - -And loveliest of all the girls and women, Peter thought, was -Mona--lovelier even than Adette Clamart, who came hurrying to them -with laughing eyes and red lips and rebellious curls dancing about her -pink cheeks to beg Peter's pardon for laughing at him the preceding -afternoon. - -To Peter's infinite dismay Adette seized his head between her two small -hands and kissed him squarely on the eye which had looked so funny to -her yesterday. - -"There, I'm sorry, Peter," she said. "But you did look so funny." - -She was gone like one of the dainty, golden canaries that nested in -the clearing, running to catch up with Jame, her husband, who had -Telesphore in his arms. - -Fire leaped into Mona's cheeks. - -"I won't have Adette Clamart doing that," she protested indignantly. -"If your eye needs kissing----" - -Peter was wiping it with the back of his hand. - -"That's right, wipe it away," she encouraged spitefully. "I hate her!" - -Peter said nothing. But he saw Mona's lovely eyes flash in Adette's -direction when they were seated on one of the wooden benches in the -little church. Adette smiled mischievously and nodded her head, but -Mona made no response except to tilt her pretty chin a little higher -in the air and look straight ahead of her to the platform where Father -Albanel was ready to begin the service. - -The little missioner's face was even rosier and jollier than yesterday, -it seemed to Peter, and he was smiling and nodding and rubbing his -hands as if this particular hour was the happiest of his life. - -Peter, looking secretly about him, was impressed by the fact that this -was unlike any other Sunday meeting he had ever attended. He missed the -serious and almost awesome solemnity of the other similar occasions he -could remember. Here everyone was free and easy and refreshingly happy. -Even Simon McQuarrie's emotionless face was more gentle, and he smiled -when he saw Peter, and a ripple of laughter ran easily through the -gathering when young Telesphore crowed delightedly and waved his arms -in an embracing greeting to all about him. Then came the tinkle of a -bell, and suddenly the room was very quiet. - -What happened after that was like a dream to Peter, and it seemed -constantly to be awakening something new and happier within him. He -had never heard singing like that which filled the little church. -Mona's voice was clear and soft as the crested warbler's song which he -loved; and when she looked at him and whispered, "Sing, Peter," his -courage came to him, and a little at a time he lifted his voice until -his boyish tenor rose clearly at her side. When they sat down she was -nearer to him, so near that her wonderful white dress crumpled close -against him and a tress of her shining hair fell upon his hand. - -"I love your singing, Peter," she whispered to him again. - -His heart beat fast and his hand twitched nervously under the silken -caress of her hair. Until now--this hour when they sat so close -together in the church--he had not felt the deeper stir of that emotion -which was growing in him. Surreptitiously his fingers closed about the -soft tress of hair. Mona did not know it, no one knew it but himself, -and he looked straight ahead while his heart beat still faster and the -warm thrill of his secret sent the blood into his face. - -Father Albanel was talking. And in a trance Peter listened. What struck -him, and what he remembered so clearly afterward, was the way in which -the little missioner talked about all living things, as if the flowers -and trees had hearts and souls, and God loved the forests and all wild -things just as much as He loved people. Peter had heard his father -say many of those same things, only in a different way--for Father -Albanel's voice was like deep music that reached down into the soul, -and there was no whisper or stir among those who listened to him. - -He seemed to be looking straight at Peter when he talked about Faith, -and what faith meant in the lives of men and women and children; -and to make this clear to the children of Five Fingers he told the -legend of Nepise, the beautiful Indian maiden, who was known as the -Torch-Bearer. It seemed to Peter the missioner was describing Mona, -for Nepise was the loveliest girl among all her people, with eyes that -were pools of beauty and hair that fell about her like a shining black -garment. The story became a tragic and living thing to him; he saw the -plague-stricken Indian people, and when Nepise died the effect upon -him was like a shock. But she had made her dying people a promise--a -wonderful promise!--to come back in spirit, bearing with her the Torch -of Life, and with this flaming torch she would go from tepee to tepee -and from village to village, and all who had faith in her would see -her and to them would come health and happiness. And Nepise kept her -promise, and forever after that, and up to this very day, the Indian -maiden was known throughout the wilderness as the Torch-Bearer. - -When Father Albanel had finished Peter looked at Mona. Her red lips -were parted, her eyes were aglow, and in her white throat a little -heart seemed beating. And when they stood up again to sing his fingers -still held the soft tress of hair, and this time Mona saw it, and -smiled at him, and Peter was no longer afraid of his secret. - -After Father Albanel's benediction Mona led Peter a little hurriedly -from the meeting-house, but without losing her prim dignity so long as -she thought Adette Clamart's eyes might be upon her. - -"I shan't speak to her all day!" she confided in Peter. - -They passed near the tug and saw Aleck Curry fishing from the stern, -and Mona told him that neither Aleck nor his father ever came to -church. Then they came to a narrow foot trail that was new to Peter and -for half an hour walked slowly out on a green-timbered point of land -until they reached the big lake. It was the finest view Peter had ever -had of Superior. The great sea seemed to engulf the world, and away -out there were three white dots which were ships under canvas. It was -warm and calm, and he was puzzled by a sullen, booming roar until Mona -led the way down a break in the cliff and showed him the Pit, where -the surf and undertows boiled and rumbled even in fair weather. And in -storm---- - -She tried to tell him what it was then, when the great rocks were like -so many monsters, grinding things to pieces, and when nothing that -lived could exist for more than a minute or two in what Pierre Gourdon -called the maelstroms. They found a clean white rock, worn smooth by -the water, and sat down, and Peter wondered at the change which came -into Mona's face. - -"Can you remember your mother, Peter?" she asked softly. - -He was silent for a moment, and then said, "I've seen her a good many -times when I was asleep." - -"Do you still see her?" - -"I did two nights ago." - -"Is she pretty?" - -"Yes." - -"So is mine." She folded her hands in her lap and added quietly: "Out -there is where my mother and father were drowned. Uncle Pierre tied me -to his back and brought me ashore." - -Then she told him the story of the wreck of the sailing ship, and how -Aunt Josette and Marie Antoinette and Father Albanel and all the people -of Five Fingers said it was a miracle that even one should come ashore -alive. And she was that one. - -"Father Albanel sometimes comes down here with me," she said. "I love -him. He always tells me about Nepise. Isn't that a pretty name, Peter? -It means Willow Bud. But after she died and her spirit came back with -the torch they called her Suskuwao, which means the Torch-Bearer. I -love her, too. Do you?" - -Peter nodded. "I was thinking of you," he said desperately, trying to -get the choking thought out of him. "Father Albanel was looking at you -when he told about the Indian girl. That's what you've been to me since -I come--a--a sort of torch-bearer, like he said she was. I dunno what -I'd have done if it hadn't been for you." - -It was out, and for a moment or two the suffocating realization of what -he had said made it difficult for him to breathe easily. Mona did not -look at him. Her shining eyes were fixed steadily upon the vastness of -the lake. - -"Was that why you touched my hair, Peter?" - -"I guess so." - -"You like me--_like that_?" - -He nodded again, finding the moment too tremendous for words. And this -time Mona was looking at him. There was an earnestness in her face -which made her seem older to Peter. Her eyes were a woman's eyes, calm -and steady in their gaze, as they studied him for a moment. - -"And I like you, Peter," she said then, "I like you so much--that I -never want you to go away from Five Fingers." - -"And I never want to go," he said. "Not if my father comes back." - -"He will come!" - -Her voice was quick and sure and filled with a vibrant ring that sent a -little tremble through him. She was sitting very straight, and a gust -of wind stirred her hair so that it rippled and floated about her, and -Peter--looking at her with wide eyes and swiftly beating heart--thought -of Father Albanel, and of Nepise the Torch-Bearer, and the beautiful -faith the little missioner had visioned entered into him and he -believed. And the strange and thrilling impulse came to him to put his -hand to that soft cloud of Mona's hair and tell her that he believed. -But he did not move, nor did he speak. For a space Mona seemed to be -far away from him, gazing at something which he could not see out -beyond the turmoil of the Pit. Her fingers were interlocked in her lap, -and not until the voice of Jame Clamart hallooed down from the top of -the cliff was the spell of silence broken. - -Mona started but did not look up. She knew Adette was there, smiling -down at them and ready to wave her hand. Quite calmly she said to Peter: - -"It's that Adette Clamart. Will you promise never to let her kiss you -again?" - -"Sure--I promise," said Peter. - -"As long as you live?" - -"As long as I live." - -"Cross your heart, Peter!" - -Devoutly Peter took the solemn oath. - -"I'm glad," said Mona. "I don't like kissing--but if it has to be done -I'll do it!" And a fiery little note in her voice was so combatively -possessive that Peter suddenly felt himself a helpless but willing -slave in chains. - -And in the days and weeks that followed his first Sunday in the -settlement this bondage was stronger than the hungering loneliness for -his father which pulled him at times toward the big forests of the -north. Mona's world became his world. He began to fit into its play, -its duties, and the family communism of its environment. He went to -school. At odd hours he worked about the mill and helped in the spring -planting, and later in the tilling of the soil. - -In the passing of the summer Mona and Peter spent much of their time -together in the cool depths of the forests. On these adventurings -they were inseparable, and their favorite haunt, specially on Sunday -afternoons, was a beaver colony a mile and a half up the shore of -the lake and a little back in the rough ridges and hills. The beaver -settlement was Mona's own property, and it was one of the laws of Five -Fingers that no one should despoil it with trap or gun. It was five -years ago, Mona told Peter, that four old beavers emigrated from some -one of the colonies back in the hills and she and Pierre discovered -them building a dam at this place. There were now over thirty of them. -A long time ago they had ceased to be afraid of her, and some of them -were so friendly she could touch them with her hand. But they were -alarmed when Peter came with her and for days scarcely a head would -show when he was about. Very slowly and with extreme caution they -began to accept him as a part of Mona, and the first cool breath of -autumn was in the nights before they would openly disclose themselves -or play on their slides or proceed with the varied duties of their -lives when he was watching the big dark pool in which they had built -their homes. - - - - -CHAPTER XII - - -In September a sinister and foreboding gloom seemed to creep out of the -wilderness surrounding Five Fingers. - -The golden autumn, with its soft Indian summer and its radiance of -color, died almost before it was born. The birch leaves did not turn -yellow and gold but stopped at a rusty brown; the poplar leaves curled -up and began to fall from their stems before the first frost; mountain -ash berries were pink instead of red, and heavy fogs settled like wet -blankets between the ridges, while in the swamps the rabbits were dying -in hundreds and thousands of the mysterious "seven years' sickness." - -The men at Five Fingers, and especially Pierre Gourdon and Dominique -Beauvais, who read the wilderness as if it were a book, regarded these -matters with anxious eyes. It was Pierre who called attention to the -going of the bluebirds a month before their time, and noted first that -the red squirrels were gathering great stores of cones, and that the -robins were restless and uneasy and were assembling in the flocks which -presaged sudden flight. - -Then, one sunset, a great flock of wild geese went honking south. They -were high and flying very fast. - -Pierre Gourdon pointed up. "When the wild geese race like that in -September--it means a bad winter. Only twice have I seen it. The last -time was two years before we came to Five Fingers--a year of starvation -and plague; and the other time----" He shuddered, and shrugged his -shoulders, for that other time was in boyhood, when his mother and -father had died back in the forests, and he had dragged himself -starving and nearly dead to Ste. Anne de Beaupré. - -Colder nights came, filled with moaning winds, and the days were -darkened by ash-gray skies through which the sun seldom shone warmly, -and more and more frequently came the honk of geese racing south. Peter -could hear them at night, in darkness and when the stars were shining, -coming from the north, crying down their solemn notes of passage from -the high trails of the air. - -And these same nights he heard the wolves howl back in the hollows and -ridges and deeper hunting grounds of the forests, and Pierre Gourdon -listened uneasily to the cold, hard note in their voices, and said to -Dominique: - -"The wolves will run lean this winter, and when hunger trails the -wolves, famine is not far behind." - -But it was the dying of the rabbits more than the crying of the wolves -that worried them at first. The plague-stricken animals were lying -everywhere, even up to the steps of the cabins, and one day Peter -counted so many in a corner of the swamp that Simon McQuarrie's eyes -widened a little with doubt when he told his story. Once every seven or -nine years had the rabbit plague swept on its devastating way through -the wilderness, but never had Pierre or Dominique or Simon seen it so -destructive as this year, and the nearer howling of the wolves and -the strange, clammy nights with their deathlike fogs roused in Pierre -Gourdon's heart the ghosts of old superstitions and old fears put there -in tragic days when he was a boy. - -And then came a night when the world seemed filled with wet smoke, -and on that night the gray Canada geese came down from the north in -a multitude so great that they filled the sky over Five Fingers with -a winged deluge, and thousands of them dropped into the inlet and -the clearing to rest. Their honking was a bedlam which made sleep -impossible, and with the dawn Peter could see them darkening the fields -and the water of Middle Finger Inlet. When the various companies and -regiments began taking wing the sound they made was a steady thunder -that sent a weird and thrilling shudder through earth and air. There -were ten thousand pair of wings in that southward moving host, Pierre -Gourdon said. Peter had never thought there were so many wild geese in -the world and it puzzled him that not one of them was killed by the men -at Five Fingers. - -"A wild goose mates but once," Pierre explained. "If his mate dies, -he does not take another, but lives alone for the rest of his life. -Memory and loyalty like that men do not have, and so it is a crime to -kill them." Then he added, looking up thoughtfully at one of the winged -triangles racing through the sky, "And the gray goose lives a hundred -years!" - -In October what were left of the big snowshoe rabbits began to turn -white, and the wind kept steadily in the north. Snow fell early. All -through November the big lake was lashed by fierce gales; the Pit -roared and whipped itself into furies, and the gulls were gone entirely -from Middle Finger Inlet. In a single night, it seemed to Peter, winter -came. And from the beginning it was a black, ominous winter. For days -at a time there was no sun. The sky was shut in by a gray canopy of -cloud. When snow fell it was hard and biting, and riding with the wind, -it stung the flesh like fine shot. - -In December came a change. The winds died, the skies cleared a little, -and day and night it snowed until the wilderness was smothered and -the evergreen forests bent to the snapping point under their burden. -Trails were closed and the hollows between ridges were filled. One day -Poleon Dufresne snowshoed in from the railroad settlement, half dead -from exhaustion and bearing the news that all the world was shut out by -snow, and that it lay twenty feet deep in the open places. And quietly -he gave other news to Pierre Gourdon and Dominique and Simon McQuarrie. -The dreaded plague of the wilderness--the smallpox--had already begun -to stalk through the northland. - -Following the deep snows came a cold so intense that the men no -longer ran the hazard of frosted lungs by working in the woods, and -all wild life seemed to have become extinct. Between the lake and the -settlements along the line of steel one could scarcely have found the -trail of a cloven hoof, for the deer and moose were yarded deep and -struggled breast-high against snow for the bush-browsing that kept them -alive, while the caribou, milling against wind and storm, had left the -snow-smothered country for feeding grounds farther north. It was a -winter that began--first of all--with starvation. The icy coating of -the trees left no budding for the grouse; small creatures smothered -in thousands under the hardening snow crust which could soon bear the -weight of a man; foxes and ermine gnawed bark in their hunger; with the -rabbits gone, owls died of a sickness which ravages them in times of -forest famine--and the empty stomachs of wolves brought them nearer and -nearer to the clearing until frightened horses broke halters in their -stalls and cattle bellowed in their terror. - -Peter had never heard wolves as they cried out now. Sometimes their -wail of hunger was almost a sobbing in the night, and again it was -bitter and vengeful as hoof and horn beat them back from some yarded -stronghold of moose and deer. - -Each day and week Peter came to understand more of the tragedy through -which he was passing. It was one of the "black years." Father Albanel -came to the settlement early in January; he was thin and haggard, -his eyes deep-set, the rosy color gone from his face. In the little -church he asked the people of Five Fingers to offer up prayer for the -thousands who were sick and the hundreds who were dying through all the -great wilderness from Hudson Bay to the Athabasca and from Big Lake to -the Barren Lands. Over all that country the plague was raging, sweeping -like a forest fire from tepee to cabin, until in certain far places the -great Hudson Bay Company could no longer bury its dead, and masterless -dogs ran with the wild things in the forests. Pierre Gourdon's face -was almost as haggard as Father Albanel's, and Mona called Peter's -attention to it, with a tense and strange look in her eyes. - -"I overheard Uncle Pierre and Aunt Josette when they were talking last -night and they said they weren't afraid for themselves but that they -were afraid for me," she said. "Why should they be, Peter? I don't get -sick easily." - -"You're a girl, that's why," he explained. - -"But if I should get sick--what would you do? Would you dare to come -and see me?" - -"I'd come." - -"Even if it was the plague?" - -"I'd still come." - -[Illustration: - - _OLD SIMON_ held Peter off at arm's length, his - stern face working in a strange way -] - -[Illustration: - - _PETER McRAE_ had come home and a whisper - of gladness ran among the crowd -] - -"I'd like to have you, Peter. If I was sick and you didn't come, I -think it would make me feel so badly I wouldn't get well." - -And that night, with the wolves wailing at its doors, the blighting -hand of the red plague fell upon Five Fingers! - -It touched Geertruda Poulin first, and Jeremie, her husband, nailed -a red cloth over his cabin door to keep the children at a distance, -and that rag, fluttering in the winds, soon filled their hearts with -a greater terror than if they had seen a _loup-garou_ haunting the -edge of the forest or the grim hunters of the _Chasse-galerie_ riding -through the gloomy sky, for they were told that to go near it meant -death. And then, three days later, little Tobina fell ill, and with -a pale, brave face and eyes in which there was no sign of fear Marie -Antoinette went into the plague-stricken cabin to nurse them. After -that Joe Gourdon's face was like a mask carven out of stone until the -night when Jame Clamart pounded at his door and cried out the terrible -news that Adette was down with the fever. And that midnight Josette -calmly kissed Pierre and Mona good-by and went to her. Until she was -gone Pierre held back the sob in his throat--then it escaped him, and -he held Mona close, so close that it hurt her. It was on a Sunday -morning, bitterly cold and filled with gusty winds, that Jeremie Poulin -staggered out from his door and flung up his arms to the sky, and the -word passed from cabin to cabin that Geertruda was dead. - -Alone, barring all others from their company, Simon McQuarrie and -Father Albanel dug with picks and grub-hoes the first new grave in the -little cemetery. Chunk by chunk they broke out the frozen earth, and -when it was dark--so dark no eyes could see them--they helped Jeremie -Poulin carry his dead over the clearing and upon their knees prayed -with him at the grave-side. After that they lived in one of the barns, -visiting only the sick and the dead, and each morning and evening Simon -would shout to Peter through the megaphone of his hands, asking him -if he felt pain or dizziness or fever, and warning him to stay in the -cabin. Then Sara Dufresne and two of her three children were stricken -and Jean Croisset died so suddenly that the shock of it stopped every -heart in Five Fingers. Pounding of hammers came from the barn, and -the next morning there was another mound of brown and frozen earth in -the cemetery. A day later Dominique Beauvais, with his house full of -children, nailed up the red badge of sickness over his cabin door. - -Each day Peter saw Mona. They spent their hours together, and Pierre -Gourdon watched them as a hawk watches its young. At night they sat -at their windows, for after Jean's death the skies cleared and a -glorious moon filled the world with light. And one night Peter heard -the hammers pounding again, and in the gray of dawn--still sleepless -and wide-eyed--he saw Father Albanel and Simon and Jeremie Poulin come -from Dominique Beauvais's cabin bearing a long, grim thing among them; -and when they had reached the burial slope he saw them turn back, and -enter the cabin again, and come forth once more with their shoulders -bent under a burden. Peter's heart choked him. He sobbed and clutched -his hands at his breast. It was Félipe and Dominique, the two youngest -of the Beauvais children, whom he had seen carried to the burial plot. - -Sobbing, he ran toward Mona's home. The door opened and Pierre Gourdon -came out. Peter stopped a few paces away, for there was something in -Pierre's face that frightened him. At first he thought it must be the -madness of the fever; then his ears caught words, strange, hard words -that froze his blood and that seemed to come with a mighty effort from -Pierre's ghastly face. Mona was sick! She was in bed--and he must -return to Simon McQuarrie's cabin and not come again within breathing -distance of the house! Peter moved closer to the door, powerless to -speak, and Pierre thrust him back so roughly that he fell to the ground. - -"Go away!" he commanded, raising a hand as if to strike the boy. - -Through the open door Peter had a glimpse of Josette's face looking out -at him, so white and haggard that for a moment he thought it was an old -woman's face. He cried out to her but in the same moment she was gone -and there came no answer. - -Then he spoke half defiantly to Pierre. - -"I want to see Mona," he said. "I promised her I'd come if she was -sick." - -"Go!" said Pierre again, pointing sternly toward Simon McQuarrie's -cabin. "You can come halfway to learn how Mona is, but if you come this -near again I shall have you taken from Five Fingers!" - -Peter drew slowly away, staring in horror at Pierre and the cabin -behind him. He slumped down on the doorstep at Simon's place and did -not feel the bitter cold. He saw Pierre enter the cabin, and then he -watched the gray figures in the distant cemetery as they moved slowly -about, piling the last of the frozen clods upon the burdens they had -carried through the dawn a few minutes before. And Mona was down with -that same sickness--which meant death! - -In his torment he picked and twisted at his clothes until his thin -fingers were blue with the cold. Pierre came out again and put up -the red cloth, and then he went to intercept the three men who were -on their way from the cemetery to their quarters in the barn. Father -Albanel and Simon McQuarrie returned with Pierre and entered the cabin -where Mona was sick. In a few minutes Simon came out and seeing Peter -huddled on the doorstep, approached as near to him as he dared. He -asked the same questions, and gave the same warnings, and assured -Peter that Mona was only slightly ill, and that she would get over it -very quickly. But there was in his face the same look that had been in -Pierre's, and Peter knew he was lying. - -"She is going to die," his heart kept crying, and he dragged himself -into the cabin and flung himself upon Simon's bed, and when Joe Gourdon -came in he was crying, his head buried in his arms. With his beloved -Marie Antoinette keeping guard in Jeremie Poulin's house of death, Joe -was making a courageous fight. "Tobina Poulin is past all danger, and -if things go well Aunt Marie Antoinette will come home in a few days, -and then you can come to us," he comforted Peter. "Meanwhile I'm going -to stay with you." - -But Joe's cheerfulness was mostly forced. News came early in the day -that Adette Clamart was very close to death, and that Jame and Father -Albanel were constantly at her bedside. - -That night sheer exhaustion brought sleep to Peter. He was awakened -by a pounding at the door. Joe's voice called out below and another -answered it from outside. It was Jame Clamart, going from cabin to -cabin in a madness of joy, telling the people of Five Fingers that the -crisis was over and Adette would live. - -Peter could hear the running crunch of Jame's boots in the hard snow -as he hurried on to the next neighbor and for a long time after that -he lay awake in the cold darkness of his room, thinking of Mona. -Fear of death had not gripped him so terribly before. In the tragedy -of others he had felt shock; its suddenness and horror had stunned -him and filled him with dread, but the physical grief of it had not -touched him deeply until now. He was sick, but the sickness was in his -heart, as if something had been cut out of it, leaving in its place -an emptiness which made breath come to his lips in smothered sobs. And -that something which had been taken away from him was Mona. - -When he closed his eyes he could see her clearly on her white bed, her -long hair streaming about the pillow, her face pinched and thin, and -all the time she was wondering _why he did not come_. She was going to -die; he could think of nothing but that, and after a little one thing -persisted in traveling through his brain so frequently and so terribly -that he called aloud for Joe. The maddening picture was that of Father -Albanel and Simon and Jeremie Poulin marching through the gray dawn to -the burial plot with the bodies of Félipe and Dominique Beauvais. - -Joe came up, and for the rest of that night Peter lay in the shelter of -his arm and fell asleep again. - -The next day came with good omen. A bright sun rose over the forests, -clearer and warmer than it had been for many weeks. Herman Vogelaar, -whose laughter had gone with the death of his daughter, Geertruda, came -at breakfast time with the word that Adette was entirely out of her -fever, and that Poleon Dufresne's wife and three children were much -better than yesterday. Father Albanel, he said, had spent the last -half of the night with Mona. Mona was very sick. She was worse than -Adette had been, or even Geertruda, in the same length of time. He was -afraid----But Joe gave him such a fierce scowl he did not finish. -Peter saw the scowl and the nervous twisting of Herman's fingers at -the lapels of his coat as he tried to think of something with which -to cover his blunder. He wanted to ask Herman to speak what had been -on his lips, but instead he put on his coat and cap and heavy mittens -and went out into the day, hoping that somewhere he would see Father -Albanel. - -As if his hope were a prayer quickly answered, Father Albanel came from -the Gourdon cabin. The little missioner advanced, keeping the wind well -in his face, and when he was fifty paces from Peter he stopped and -called to the boy to stand where he was. Peter tried to speak bravely -when he asked if Mona was going to die. - -"She is very sick," said the missioner. "We must pray for her, and -believe with all our might that she is going to get well. I think God -will let her live." - -"I promised I'd come if she was sick. I got to keep my word. I'm not -afraid." - -Father Albanel shook his head. - -"It is impossible, Peter. There are too many of us down now." - -"I won't get sick," said Peter doggedly. - -Father Albanel spoke sharply. "Keep to your cabin, my boy, and be as -brave as Jame Clamart has been. If Mona grows worse, I will tell you." - -Each morning after this he brought news of Mona to Peter. For a week -there seemed to be no change. On the eighth day she was worse; on the -tenth Pierre and Josette and Father Albanel were fighting desperately -to save her life. - -The tenth night came. It was past midnight when Peter crept softly to -his window and opened it. With as little sound as he could make he drew -himself through and dropped to the ground. He ran away quickly, the -brilliance of the stars sending his shadow along with him. He did not -stop until he reached the Gourdon cabin, and there he hugged closely -against the log wall, his heart beating wildly as he waited. Above him -a light glowed feebly against the curtain in Mona's room. He wanted to -call to her; he puckered his lips and almost gave the whistling signal -which she knew. Then he heard a sound, a movement of some kind, and -stealthily he approached a lower window. He could see Josette very -clearly. She was seated in a chair with her face bowed in her hands, -and Pierre was standing at her side, gently stroking her hair. Father -Albanel was behind them, his face white and torn with grief. Then Peter -saw that Josette was crying. - -A terrible fear gripped him as he drew away from the window. What he -had seen could mean only one thing. Mona--_was gone_. He looked up -at the dim light above him again, and in that moment his soul cried -out against all those who had kept him away from her. He went to the -kitchen door, opened it, and entered. This time he would scream and -fight if they tried to keep him back. But no one heard him. Father -Albanel's voice came to him faintly. He was praying. - -Peter reached the stair and went up quietly. The door of Mona's room -was open. A lamp, turned low, was burning on the table. - -He approached the bed, scarcely knowing that he was moving toward it. -His heart was crushed, his world crumbled and gone, for Mona must be -dead or they would not leave her like this, and Josette would not be -crying down below. Even his father could not have helped him now. -Nothing could help him, with Mona _gone_. He stumbled to his knees -beside her and his cold fingers twined themselves about the soft braid -of hair that fell over the side of her bed. - -A stifled, despairing sob broke from him then as he stared at the thin -face that lay so still and lifeless in the pale light of the room. He -had a great desire to touch it but a moment of dread made him hesitate. -Then his hand crept slowly over the coverlet until it rested against -Mona's cheek, and the sobbing in his throat was choked back, for the -flesh he touched was hot. His heart thumped until the sound of it -seemed to fill the room. Mona's eyes were opening! They were looking at -him! And then---- - -Two thin, white arms reached up and encircled Peter's neck, and very -faintly he heard his name whispered. He pressed his face down close to -Mona's. - -"I'd have come sooner," he apologized, "but they wouldn't let me in!" - -And somehow, in that great moment of their lives Peter's lips touched -Mona's, and as the girl's flagging spirit came at last in triumph back -from the edge of death Father Albanel entered the room; and when he saw -what had happened he spoke no word, but in silence made the sign of the -cross upon his breast and stood with his gray head bowed in voiceless -prayer. - - - - -CHAPTER XIII - - -It was many minutes before Peter looked up and saw Father Albanel -standing at his side. The little missioner made no movement except -to place a hand gently on the boy's head. Mona's eyes were wide open -and in them was a light of almost unearthly happiness as she looked -at Peter. In the pale lamp-glow it seemed as though death had already -possessed her, except for those great, shining eyes out of which Father -Albanel saw all fever had gone. - -In a voice that was low and choking he said, "You must come away now, -Peter--for a little while." - -Mona's hands rose in weak protest to Peter's shoulders, and he bent to -meet them, pressing his face down again without shame or embarrassment -so that her soft cheek lay close against his own. - -Joy and gentleness fought with a gathering fear in Father Albanel's -face, and a little at a time, but firmly, he drew Peter away, while -between the words he was speaking he breathed a prayer to Sainte Anne -and the Mother Mary asking that the boy might be spared the curse of -the deadly malady with which he had come in contact. - -At the door Peter turned, and Mona's eyes were so strangely and darkly -beautiful that he reached back his arms to her with a little cry. "I'll -come again, Mona! I will! I'll come _soon_!" - -They went down into the room where he had seen Josette and Pierre, -with his hand held tightly in the little missioner's. He had never -seen a face more terribly white than Josette's, and Pierre was like a -haggard old man. He looked up at Father Albanel. The missioner's face -was streaming with tears, and through the tears he was smiling. Then -he began to speak. He told how Peter had stolen into the house and had -gone to Mona. - -"God sent him," he said. "He has done more than all the physicians and -medicines in the world could have done, for he has brought Mona back -from the very gates of death. _She will live!_" - -The last three words drowned all others for Peter. His breath came in -little jerks. Then he found himself crying--in Josette's arms. - -Josette pressed Peter to her and covered his pale, cold face with -kisses. Her great eyes seemed to drown him with their nearness, and -then she too was sobbing, with his face hugged close to hers. It all -passed in a very few moments, it seemed to Peter, and Josette went with -Father Albanel to Mona's room. She came back in a little while. Her -eyes were shining and the whiteness was gone from her face. - -"It is true--God has been good to us again," she said, looking into -Pierre's wildly questioning eyes. - -"The fever is broken. Her skin is soft and moist. And--she--_wants -Peter_!" - -Josette and Pierre understood the look that came into Father Albanel's -face. They waited for him to speak. - -"Please let me go," begged Peter. "I won't make a noise. I'll sit -quiet." - -Father Albanel swallowed a lump in his throat. - -"And mebby--if I ask her--she'll go to sleep," urged Peter. - -The missioner nodded his gray head. "That's it," he said, looking first -at Pierre and then at Josette. "I think if Peter were there, she would -sleep. The boy has already been exposed. It cannot be worse. It is -God's will. Let him go and sit beside her." - -A joyous thrill went through Peter. Father Albanel turned to him and -put his hands on the boy's shoulders. - -"You must tell her you can stay only if she will try very hard to go to -sleep. After that you mustn't talk to her. And just as soon as she is -asleep you must slip away quietly and come back to us here." - -"I promise," said Peter. - -Josette helped him off with his coat. Then she kissed him, and Peter -went softly up the stair. - -Though he came with scarcely more sound than a shadow to her door Mona -heard him. Her eyes were watching for him, so big and shining in her -thin white face that to Peter she seemed all eyes. He did not trouble -with a stool or chair but knelt beside her bed. Mona's hands went up -to his face and their gentle touch drew him down until she kissed him -on the lips. There was no hesitation in her act. It was as if she had -always kissed him. - -"Please kiss me, Peter," she said. - -He kissed her. - -"I was dreaming that over and over," she smiled at him faintly, "and -you didn't come. Now it's true. And--I'm--so--glad----" - -"You mustn't talk," he warned, remembering his duty. "They said if -_you_ said anything after I told you this I'd have to go downstairs. -They want you to sleep. - -"An' I want you to _sleep_," he added courageously. "You mustn't say -another word--not one!" - -Mona started to speak, then put a finger to her lips, and her eyes -glowed at Peter until he felt creeping through him an overwhelming -desire to kiss her again. She tucked her hand in his, and he settled -down, sitting on the floor. Mona closed her eyes and gave a deep sigh. -Her fingers squeezed Peter's, and Peter's fingers squeezed back. - -Half an hour later Josette tiptoed up the stair. Quietly she came -through the dim light to the bedside. Mona was asleep. She was -breathing evenly for the first time in many days. Peter had leaned over -so that his cheek was resting on the thick, soft braid of her hair. -Mona's hand was still clasped in his. And he too was asleep. - -Josette drew back as quietly as she had entered and returned to Pierre -and Father Albanel. - -Hours later Peter awoke. He thought he was dreaming at first. Then he -found his fingers buried in Mona's braid, and saw her pale face against -the pillow. Everything returned to him in a moment, and he moved his -cramped legs an inch at a time, and very quietly got on his feet. Mona -was asleep. He bent over and listened to her breathing. Then he looked -at the little clock that was ticking on a shelf above her table. It was -four o'clock. Almost time for the gloomy dawn to come. He must have -slept a long time! And Mona had slept too. His heart beat joyously as -he backed slowly toward the door, careful not to make the slightest -sound. - -In the room below he found Father Albanel sitting with his gray head -bowed over a book which had fallen into his lap. But Josette heard him, -still as he had been, and came out of her room. She was in a white -nightgown with soft arms bare to her elbows and her hair in two long, -loosely plaited braids. - -To Peter she was more than ever like an angel. - -"Sh-h-h-h!" she whispered, putting a finger to her lips. "Everyone is -asleep, Peter--except you and me!" - -She took his hand and led him into the spare room which had once been -Joe's, and sat down with him for a few moments on the edge of the bed. - -"You are going to stay with us for a while," she said in a voice so low -and sweet that it was like music to Peter. "Will you like that?" - -He shook his head affirmatively. "I wanted to come all the time. I -promised Mona I would--if she was ever sick." - -Josette drew his head gently against her breast. He could hear her -heart beating. - -"I am Mona's mother. After this--how would you like me to be _your_ -mother?" she asked softly. - -"I--I'd like it. But I gotta live with Simon. Dad told me to--until he -comes back." - -The arm about his shoulders tightened a little. - -"Yes, you must live with Simon. I wouldn't take you from him. But I'm -going to be your mother, Peter--just the same. From now on, all the -time, you belong to me just as Mona does." - -"I guess that's why Mona likes me--because I haven't got a mother," he -tried to explain. "But my dad's coming back. He'll love you too. Nobody -can help loving you, can they?" - -"I don't know, Peter." - -"Simon says they can't. My mother was just like you. I've dreamed of -her lots of times." - -"Does she look like me--in your dreams, Peter?" - -"Last time I thought she _was_ you. We were out in the woods picking -flowers, an' Mona was there. Then she faded away. She always fades -away, just sort of melts until you can't see her--my mother, I mean." -Suddenly he asked, "Did you ever see Mona's mother?" - -"Yes, Peter." - -"Was she pretty?" - -"All mothers are pretty, Peter." - -Peter pondered for a moment. "I guess mebby they are," he said, and -then added a little dubiously, "except now and then. I'll bet Aleck -Curry's mother isn't pretty!" - -"To Aleck--she is beautiful," whispered Josette, and drew herself -gently away from him. "You must undress and go to bed now, Peter. Good -night!" - -For a while after she was gone he sat on the edge of his bed wondering -what she had meant in saying that thing about Aleck Curry and his -mother. A beast like Aleck _couldn't_ have a pretty mother. But her -words troubled him even after he was undressed and in bed. If by any -chance Aleck _did_ have a pretty mother--why--it wasn't right for Mona -and him to hate Aleck as they did, that was all! - -He didn't sleep much between then and morning, and when he came out of -his room, just as the first cold light of the winter sun was falling -in the clearing, happier faces greeted him. Mona was better. In the -reaction of joy that had swept over the household there was once more -laughter in the kitchen. Josette went up the stair singing. And when -at last she called down for Peter he found Mona bolstered up in her -bed, and Josette was brushing her hair, which streamed about her in -long, beautiful cascades of silken softness. Mona's eyes and face were -different this morning. She was more like the Mona he had known, only -thinner and whiter, and she smiled at him when he came through the door. - -With Josette so near, Peter was a little self-conscious and clumsy in -his greeting. But Mona held out her arms, just as she had done last -night, and pulled him down to her, and kissed him. - -From that day the great fact in the lives of the two children was -accepted in Five Fingers. Mona and Peter belonged to each other. And so -sure was Father Albanel of God's intention in the matter that he felt -no worry about Peter, in spite of the fact that the boy had come in -fearfully close contact with the deadly malady. - -"He will not catch the sickness," he said confidently. "God didn't send -him for that." - -And as day after day passed, and only good news continued to come from -the Gourdon cabin, those who had at first doubted also came to believe; -for Mona's coming back from death, and Peter's escaping the plague, -were miracles like those which happened at the precious shrine of Ste. -Anne de Beaupré, and only God could have brought them about. - -In two weeks Mona was out of bed and on her feet. And from that day, -Peter noticed, she did not hold out her arms to him again, or ask him -to kiss her. But her eyes were always soft and full of happiness when -he was near her. - -The last of winter passed, and spring came. May followed April, and -flowers sprang up in the clearing. The birds returned, work began in -the fields, and in the sweetness and promise of life Five Fingers rose -out of the grimness of its tragedy. - -One warm day when they had gone to the big beaver pond, just a week -after Mona's fourteenth birthday, Peter said something that he was -_thinking_, and didn't mean to say at all. He had been thinking it off -and on for a long time, and the words slipped out of him before he knew -it. - -"You never ask me to kiss you any more," he said. - -"Girls don't ask boys to kiss them--not unless they're sick," replied -Mona, looking at him with eyes so bright that Peter felt every drop of -blood in his body rushing to his face. - -"Then I--I sometimes wish you was sick again!" blundered Peter. - -"Peter!" - -"Yes, I do," he affirmed stubbornly. - -Mona's cheeks were flushing until they were the color of a rose. - -Suddenly her eyes flashed and she stamped a little foot. - -"You don't want to kiss me _or you'd ask for it_!" she cried. "I always -had to make you!" - -It was a new thought for Peter to ponder upon. Half an hour later, -when they were almost home, he came to a decision. - -"I do!" he exclaimed suddenly. - -"You do _what_?" asked Mona, who had been livelier than ever in hunting -for flowers. - -"You know." - -"I don't." - -"You can guess." - -"I'm not going to guess." - -"I'll give you three chances," offered Peter. - -"I don't want them." - -Peter was desperate. "You didn't mean what you said, then?" - -"What did I say?" - -"You said I didn't want to kiss you or I'd ask for it." - -"Well--you haven't asked." - -"I did. I just asked." - -Mona's lovely eyes opened wide. - -"Did you, Peter? I didn't hear it. Please ask again!" - -Peter gulped. - -"Will you?" he asked. - -"Will I _what_?" - -"Let me kiss you?" - -For what seemed at least an hour to Peter she stood looking at him. - -"If I do--will you promise never to kiss any other girl?" - -"I promise." - -"And never let any other girl kiss you? I mean Adette Clamart, too!" - -"Sure I do." - -"As long as you live?" - -"As long as I live." - -With a little gesture of gladness and satisfaction Mona Guyon held up -the prettiest mouth in all Five Fingers, and Peter kissed it. - - - - -CHAPTER XIV - - -In the weeks and months following the plague at Five Fingers Father -Albanel did not forget his promise to Peter, and back in the shelter -of the woods, where their secret was safe between them, he taught the -boy "how to fight like a gentleman--if he had to fight at all." It -was then Peter learned there was something more helpful than brute -strength, and as his skill increased and he mastered one after another -what the little missioner called "the tricks of the fighting game," his -enthusiasm rose to a point where he could scarcely keep his secret from -Mona. Their boxing-gloves, which Father Albanel had smuggled from the -settlement, they kept securely hidden, and not until years later did -Peter know that the holy man who was teaching him had at one time been -regarded by fighting men as the handiest man with his fists between -Fort William and Hudson Bay. - -What he had learned he did not fully realize until early in June, when -Aleck Curry and his father and the hateful black tug returned to the -settlement. Using the influence of a brother who had been successful -in politics, Izaak Curry had obtained timber concessions in several -directions about Five Fingers, and now built himself a cabin near the -shore, but hidden back in the spruce. This he tenanted with a third -brother and his wife, and with them Aleck lived while the tug was -making its trips between Five Fingers and Fort William. - -Aleck had grown still bigger, and in spite of Peter's resolution to -make friends with him he would have none of it. His hatred for Peter -was like some deadly thing that had poisoned every drop of blood in his -veins, and Mona's growing beauty, and her quite open affection for his -rival, stirred something that was more than hatred--more than brooding -vindictiveness--in Aleck's heart. His father was rich, and he knew what -that meant back in town; and his uncle was a power in politics, and -had recently become Commissioner of Provincial Police. It enraged him -that these facts carried no weight in Five Fingers. His own importance -as the son of a rich man and the nephew of a Commissioner was utterly -unrecognized here, while in town it had given him a position of first -rank in spite of his bullying nature. This lack of appreciation, as he -thought of it, he laid entirely at Peter's door, for it was Peter who -had robbed him of his chances with Mona in the first place, and it was -Peter who was keeping her away from him now. - -So it was not long after Aleck's arrival before the climax came. It -happened well out of sight of everybody, where Aleck had schemed that -it should be, for he wanted no interference in his "beating up" of -Peter. In the end both boys returned to the settlement with bleeding -noses and black eyes. Neither was whipped. Aleck was dumbfounded. That -his size and weight and all the training he had given himself during -the winter had failed to beat Peter was unbelievable. - -For two weeks after the fight there was not a day, excepting Sundays, -when Father Albanel and Peter did not "take a walk" in the woods -together. And along with these secret sessions Peter took advantage of -every opportunity to run and swim that he might add to his wind. Almost -daily he accepted insults from Aleck in order to avoid a fight, and -never a day passed that Father Albanel did not repeat his warning to -Peter to postpone further combat as long as possible. But the time came -when Aleck once more followed up insult with physical action, with the -result that he suffered a defeat so completely decisive that in August -he returned to Fort William, fairly laughed out of Five Fingers. - -Mona now made up Peter's world, and in his heart she kept constantly -burning the faith that his father would return. But when winter came -again, and another spring, and there was still no word from Donald -McRae, Peter came at times to believe that his father was gone out of -his life forever. - -Aleck Curry again returned to Five Fingers in this third summer of -Peter's life there. He was nineteen now, and was commissioned by his -father to take an interest in his lumber business along the coast. A -year had made a big change in him, and his hatred for Peter and his -passion for Mona he kept more to himself. His father told Simon that in -another year Aleck was going to join the provincial police, and would -soon hold a commission in it.... - -Early in September, when Mona was in her sixteenth year, the event -against which Peter had been steeling his heart for many months -became a fact. Pierre and Josette had long planned that after Marie -Antoinette's teaching in the little settlement school Mona should -spend a year, and possibly two, under the tutelage of the Sisters in -the Ursuline Convent in the city of Quebec. On the day Mona left, -accompanied by Joe's wife, who went to see her safely settled in the -distant city, Peter's world went as black as on that other day when his -father disappeared out of his life. - -The winter that followed was an endless one for Peter. Once each week, -as surely as the weeks came round, he received a long letter from Mona, -and five times during the winter he made the trip to the railroad -settlement alone that he might not miss the love and cheer which came -from her. And he was at the train to meet her, with Pierre and Josette -and Marie Antoinette and Joe, when she came from the school in June. - -At first he was dazed by the change in her, she had grown so much -taller, and more beautiful, and he stood as if turned into wood while -she greeted and kissed all the others. Then she turned to him, and her -face was flooded with a color which he had never seen in it before. -And after that--he could never remember how it happened--their arms -were around each other, and Mona was crying--crying until tears blinded -her--and he was kissing her, and she was kissing him, and then ran away -from him to hug all the others again. - -This summer in Five Fingers decided the lives of Peter and Mona. She -was almost seventeen. She would go to school one more year, because -that was the desire of Josette and Marie Antoinette. She would be -nearly eighteen then. And when she was nineteen--on her nineteenth -birthday, if Peter liked it that way--she would marry him. - -During the second year of her absence Peter devoted every energy of -soul and body toward making himself worthy of her. He worked and -planned and studied hard under Marie Antoinette and Father Albanel. -During this year several changes came to Five Fingers. Simon McQuarrie -ended his dealings with Izaak Curry, and to rid their paradise of a bad -memory Adette Clamart deliberately set fire to the Curry shack after -he had gone, so that nothing remained but a square of ash and charred -timbers. "And the wild phlox will cover that next summer," said Adette -with a grim little shrug of her pretty shoulders. - -Aleck Curry joined the police. In a day and a night, it seemed, he -sprang into a great bulk of a man, heavy-faced, huge-shouldered, a -giant in strength and physique, and with a hatred for Peter in his -heart that had grown more merciless with the passing of years. He saw -Mona each summer, and when she returned from her second year at school -her beauty stirred in him a passion which submerged all other instincts -and desires. He became a watchful, waiting beast, hiding the flame that -was consuming him, preparing himself for the opportunity which he was -determined should some day come his way. - -As each week brought nearer the day of their own supreme happiness -Mona and Peter no longer sensed this menace, or even thought of it, -and because Aleck was so utterly outside all the possibilities of her -life the deeper sentiment of womanhood growing in Mona compelled her -to treat him more kindly. Even Simon's suspicions were dulled, for -during the winter preceding her nineteenth birthday Aleck visited the -settlement only twice. Another spring and summer followed. The twelfth -of the coming October was Mona's birthday. On that day she would become -Peter's wife. It was planned that they should live with Pierre and -Josette until the good logging snows came, when all of Five Fingers -would join in building their home. - -It was on a day in August that Mona set out alone for the beaver pond, -carrying a basket in which was her own and Peter's supper. Peter, -returning from a trip up the shore, had promised to meet her before -sundown in their old trysting-place, where two winters before he had -built her a little "play-house" cabin. - -And on this same afternoon, as Mona left the settlement, a stranger was -making his way toward it. - -An attitude of unusual caution and a haunted way of looking about him -were the two things one would have noticed first as he came out of a -swamp into an open forest of white pine. He drew in a deep breath of -the freer air, and with a gesture of relief wiped his face with a hand -that was rough and twisted and scratched by contact with briers. He -was oddly disheveled and smeared with swamp oil. His gray head with -its grizzled and uncut hair wore no hat, his shirt was in rags at the -throat and sleeves and his trousers were tucked into high boots which -bore evidence of having gone through mud and water to their tops. Upon -his shoulders he carried a pack, and though the tenuity of its folds -emphasized its lightness in weight, the man freed himself from his -burden with an audible gasp of relief. - -Then he leaned against a pine and looked back at the swamp from which -he had come, listening with singular intentness for any sound which -might strike with warning or unusual import upon the languorous -stillness of the afternoon. His face was pallid under its stubble of -beard even after the heat and exertion he had passed through; his -cheeks were sunken as if by sickness or hunger, and his lips were drawn -and thin. In his eyes seemed to lie all the strength that remained in -the man. They were furtive and questing as they watched, missing no -shadow that moved. - -The sweetness of ripened summer, its lazy whisperings and the stillness -which comes in a deep wood when the sun is overhead lay about him or -trembled softly in the air. For hours he had been in an oven of swamp -heat and winged pests; here it was cool. In the pine tops a hundred and -fifty feet above his head was a faint stir of the breeze that came from -Lake Superior. It reached down and touched his hot cheeks. He could -taste the invigorating freshness of it, and there came slowly a change -in his restless eyes, a softening of the tense lines about his mouth, -a lighting up of his face where before it had held only suspense and -watchful uncertainty. He picked up his shoulder pack, carrying it in -his hand as he turned away from the swamp. - -The transformation in the man's face was strangely at odds with the -painful physical effort which accompanied his tedious progress. He no -longer looked behind him but kept his eyes ahead, as if anticipating at -any moment the appearance of something of vital importance toward which -he was struggling with the last bit of strength that remained in his -body. When at last he came to a little brook, gurgling between the pine -roots, he fell rather than knelt beside it, and drank like one dying of -thirst. Then again and again he plunged his face into hands filled with -cold water and wet his head until his gray hair was dripping. - -He followed the brook. Several times he stumbled and fell in the -rougher places and once his toe caught a root and he plunged into -the stream itself. At the end of an hour he had traveled a mile. -Then he came to a knoll of hardwoods, crossed it and made his way -down through a lacework of yellow birch until he arrived at the edge -of a deep, still pond that began in sunlight and lost itself in the -almost cavernous coolness and shadow of a spruce and cedar forest. -Instinctively the man knew it was a beaver pond, and almost instantly -he had proof it was alive. A warning tail lashed the water with the -sound of a paddle struck sideways, and across the pool, a short stone's -throw away, an object moved through the water. - -Dizzily the man sat down. His vision was clouded so that it was -difficult for him to see even the moving object. He fell upon his side -and stretched himself out on a couch of thick green grass. In another -moment he was lying with his eyes closed but with ears keenly alert. -During the next half-hour he heard every sound about him; then his pale -eyelids closed heavily and a weariness of brain and body which he could -no longer combat dulled his senses to a physical and mental inertness -which was almost sleep. - -In this state of somnolence he had lain for possibly a quarter of an -hour when a sound reached his ears which first opened his eyes and then -brought him in a quick and defensive movement to a posture that was -half sitting and half crouching. - -The sound came again, and amazement replaced the alarm in his face. -What he heard was a feminine voice, strangely soft and subdued in this -place of coolness and shadow and mysterious stillness. It was a note -of laughter, almost birdlike in its sweetness, and the man's fingers -clutched at the breast of his ragged shirt as he listened. Then he -began to crawl slowly in the direction of the sound, making his way -through a green thicket of willows, careful that no twig snapped under -his weight to give warning of his approach. Suddenly he came upon a -scene whose unexpectedness was almost a shock to him. - -He had reached the farther edge of the willows, and before him was a -little meadow not more than half an acre in extent, green and filled -with wild flowers. Almost within reach of his hands was a mountain ash -weighted with ripening fruit, and under this tree, close to the edge of -the pool, a girl was seated on the grass, partly facing him. His first -glimpse of her was of a bowed head crowned by a wealth of coiled hair; -then, as she looked up, he saw her face. Her cheeks were flushed, her -dark eyes shone, and as she laughed again she snuggled her face close -down over a furry thing scrambling about in her lap. The man saw there -were two of these creatures--baby beavers. His eyes wandered a little. -At the edge of the pond, half out of the water, was a full-grown -beaver. And this older inhabitant of the place was conscious of his -presence in the willow thicket! - -The girl was talking and laughing with the little ones, calling them by -name. One was Telesphore and the other Peterkin--and the man drew in -his breath with a gasp. He watched her tease them with a carrot. One -scrambled up and tangled a foot in her hair. - -"Peterkin!" she cried. "Peterkin--you little ruffian!" - -The old beaver remained stolid and motionless, watching the menace -in the willows. A companion swam lazily past, scented the danger and -struck the water a blow with his tail before he dived. - -The girl looked up quickly and spoke to the old beaver. "What is the -matter, Peter?" she cried. "Don't be foolish. Come and get your carrot!" - -It was then she heard a little cry behind her, and turned and saw the -man's face in the willows. - - - - -CHAPTER XV - - -Mona Guyon was not afraid. She was startled, and thrilled by an instant -intuitive sensing of the unusual and the significant in the man's -unexpected appearance. Yet the color did not leave her cheeks nor did a -cry come to her lips. She thrust the baby beavers from her lap and rose -unexcitedly to her feet, tall, slim and amazingly beautiful. - -She was looking steadily at the man, and as she looked her heart beat a -little faster, for the wilderness had taught her a quick and definite -understanding of the story she saw written in the wild face among the -willows. Its tragedy flashed upon her before her parted lips had found -words--hunger, sickness, the emaciation and weakness of a man who found -less discomfort upon his hands and knees than upon his feet. - -As she looked at him a change came into his face that the man himself -could feel as there swept over him a slow and inundating sense of -shame. Every instinct of chivalry in him revolted at the ridiculous and -alarming figure he must be making of himself. But even in this moment -of surprise and distress he did not entirely lose his sense of humor. -He tried to smile. The effort was nothing short of pathos. - -"I beg your pardon," he said as he rose a little unsteadily to his feet -and came out of the willows. His raggedness and the coarse stubble on -his face could not conceal the consciousness of pride with which he -straightened himself and bowed to her. "I have come upon you like a -wolf, and I know I look like a wolf. But I assure you I am as harmless -as a sheep, and if you don't mind dividing your carrots with me----" He -nodded toward the little yellow pile of carrots she had brought for her -beaver pets. - -His voice was pleasant. It made her think of Father Albanel, and as he -spoke a smile was in his eyes and on his pale lips. She went quickly -to his side and put a hand on his arm. Its firm young touch seemed to -steady him. - -"What has happened?" she asked. "You look----" - -"Sick--and a little mad," he finished for her, when she hesitated. "But -I'm mostly hungry, and if I may have the carrots----" - -She helped him to the foot of the tree and he dropped down beside it -with a weakness that made him hunch his shoulders in disgust. - -"I have something better than carrots," she said. "Please sit here and -I will get it." - -She hurried across the little meadow to a deeper shade of thick-growing -jack pines on the farther side, and the man turned his head to follow -her movements with his eyes. Her beauty was twisting at something in -his heart. A long time ago he had known someone like her. The slim -figure, walking swiftly across the open, took him back twenty years, -and he could almost hear a sweet voice calling his name, and in a place -very much like this, with the coolness of the wilderness all about and -the sun shining through the trees. His hand touched the scrub of beard -on his face and he shivered. The thought came to him that the girl -was afraid of him and was running away. As she disappeared among the -banksians he reached for one of the raw carrots and began to eat it. - -Mona returned so quietly that he did not hear her until she was at -his side. She brought a basket and a small pail of cold spring-water. -She spread a napkin on his lap and loaded it with the contents of the -basket. He was sensitively conscious of her eyes upon him and he tried -not to appear ravenous as he began with meat and bread. - -"I'm spoiling your picnic, child," he said, speaking to her feebly like -a man who was very old. "I'm sorry." - -"You're not spoiling it," she cried, leaning toward him with a gesture -full of sweet tenderness. "Oh, I have been so happy today--God has made -me happier by bringing me here in time to help you!" - -"Happy," he whispered, as if to himself. "It is wonderful to be happy. -I have known--what it is." - -It was her struggle to appear natural now as he ate. She had never been -so intimately close to starvation and pathos and weakness in man. - -"Were you lost?" she asked. - -He caught quickly at her suggestion. "Yes, lost--in the woods and the -swamps between the railroad and here. I was trying to find a place -called Five Fingers." - -She gave a little exclamation. "I'm from Five Fingers. It is not far. -Uncle Pierre calls it a mile and a half." - -Mona wondered at the strange silence which came over the man, and the -suddenness with which his hunger seemed to be satisfied. - -"You have been an angel to me," he said, when he had finished. -"And--things love you. Even the wild creatures." He was looking at the -baby beavers, humped into furry balls at the edge of the pond. "You -called one of them Peterkin, and the old beaver Peter. I wonder--why?" - -"And there is a bear cub I call Pete," she added. "It is because--" - -"Yes----" - -Her eyes were shining. - -"Because I am going to marry a man whose name is Peter." - -It did not seem strange to her that she should be confessing the secret -of her happiness to a man she had never seen before. - -There was something in his eyes which made her want him to know, a -mysterious gentleness that seemed to plead for her confidence and her -friendship. It gave her a pleasurable thrill to tell someone that she -loved Peter and was going to be his wife. And this man was unlike any -other who had ever come from the outside world into the wilderness -isolation of Five Fingers. - -In his rags and misfortune and his whitening hair and pale, thin face, -she saw something which stirred more than her pity. And it was more -than faith. - -Just what it was, in that moment, she did not know. She was puzzled by -the tremor which ran through his body coincident with her mention of -Peter. - -"And this Peter----" he began feverishly. The words seemed to choke in -his throat, and he passed a hand over his eyes as if to wipe away a -mist. Then he said: "He is a lucky lad. Is his name Peter McRae?" - -"Yes. How did you know?" - -"And--you love him?" - -She nodded. "I was only thirteen then, but I loved him the first day he -came to Five Fingers and fought Aleck Curry for me. Aleck was a bully -and was pulling my hair." - -The mysterious stranger bent his gray head so that she could not -see his face. "That was six years ago last May, in the afternoon. -And--Peter--did he ever tell you about--his father?" - -"Yes, that same night. It was in the edge of the forest, and it -was growing dark. He had brought a letter from his father to Simon -McQuarrie, and Simon had told him the truth. He said his father had -killed a man--accidentally--a long time ago, but that the police -wouldn't believe it was an accident and were after him, and would hang -him if he was caught. And ever since then----" - -She was at his side, staring at him as he slowly raised his head, -the color gone from her face and her white throat beating with the -sudden mad pounding in her breast. "Ever since that night--that very -hour--we have prayed together for Peter's father to come back. And -you--_you_----" - -He could not escape the wild questioning in her eyes and their demand -to be answered. - -"Would you have _me_ Peter's father?" he asked uncertainly. "This -way--an outlaw--ragged--dirty--a beggar----" - -There was an almost tragic note of hopefulness in his voice. - -"Yes," she cried, her voice breaking in excited entreaty from her lips. -"If you are Peter's father, tell me. We have waited. And I have told -him you would come. Oh, I have _promised_ him that, and have asked God -every night to make it come true. Are you----" Her hands were reaching -out to him. - -"Yes, I am Peter's father." - -There was no flash of joy or pride in his acknowledgment of the truth. -His head sank upon his breast as if a sudden weariness had overcome -him, and a moan of protest was in his voice. And then a thing happened -which swept the bitterness and grief from Donald McRae's heart. He -caught a glimpse of Mona's face, gloriously flushed in this moment of -her answered prayer; and then her arms were about him, her soft cheek -against his rough stubble of beard, and for an instant he felt the -swift pressure of her lips against his. - -He raised his hand and touched her hair. "Child," he cried brokenly, -"dear child----" - -She sprang up from him, half laughing and half sobbing, and ran out -from under the mountain ash tree and stood in the edge of the clearing. -With her hands in the form of a megaphone she called: "Peter! Peter! -_Oh, Peter!_" - -With a protesting cry he climbed to his feet and went to her. She saw -the white, almost frightened look in his face and eyes. "Don't do -that!" he exclaimed. "For God's sake--don't! Peter must not know I am -here." - -In her amazement her hands fell slowly from her face to her side. -"Why?" she demanded. - -"Because----" He stopped, listening to a voice that came faintly from -out of the forest. - -"That is Peter," said Mona. "We are going to eat our picnic supper -here--at the pool." - -"It is Peter--_coming_----" - -"Yes." - -He tried to breathe steadily, tried to speak calmly as he took her hand -and stroked it with nervous gentleness. "What is your name?" - -"Mona Guyon." - -"Mona--Guyon. It is a pretty name. And you are sweet and good and -beautiful. Peter's mother was like you. And--I am glad you love my -boy." A new strength seemed to possess him. - -The voice came again out of the forest, a little nearer this time, and -Donald McRae held the girl's hand closer, and a tremor went through him -as he smiled at her in the way he used to smile at his boy in the old -days of their comradeship and happiness. - -"That is my call," he said evenly. "Peter's mother and I used it twenty -years ago, and afterward I taught it to Peter. It carries a long -distance in the woods." - -It was not his poverty and his weakness that affected Mona most. -Something more than pity overwhelmed her--his forced calmness, the -strange light in his eyes, the almost superhuman fight he was making to -rise up out of his rags and his misery in the most tragic hours that -could have come into his life. His words and his appearance set her -heart pounding fiercely. She was a little frightened and wanted to put -her arms about him again and hold him until Peter came. What did he -mean? - -"Why mustn't Peter know you are here?" she demanded. "_Why?_" - -He led her back in the willows. In a moment they were hidden. - -"Are you brave enough to hear? And do you love Peter enough to -help--me?" he asked her. - -"Yes, yes, I will help you." - -He stood so that he could look out of the willows and across the meadow -through which Peter would come. A moment of despair and hopelessness -twisted the muscles of his face. - -"He must not see me," he said in a voice that was hardly more than a -strained whisper. "Child, you must understand--you most of all. Don't -you know why I ran away from Peter that day near Five Fingers, and sent -him on to Simon McQuarrie? It was so Peter might have a chance in life -that he never could have with me, even if I escaped the law. I, too, -have prayed--every day and every night through the years that have been -more than eternities for me; prayed that good and happiness might come -to him, and that in time even the memory of his father would wear away. -But never for an instant have I been able to forget my boy. He has been -a part of my soul and body, walking with me, sleeping with me, sitting -with me beside my hidden camp-fires at night, until at times the desire -to see him once more was so strong in me that it almost drove me mad. -And all this time I was hunted, running from place to place, living in -swamps and hidden depths of the forests, avoiding men and places of -habitation--but with Peter always at my side, just as he looked that -last terrible day at the edge of Five Fingers when he pleaded with me -to take him along----" - -His lips trembled and a shiver ran through his body. - -"And through those years Peter _was_ with you--Peter and I," replied -the girl. "Summer nights we used to ask the moon where you were, and -when it was cold and stormy we--we prayed. And on Christmas--Peter -always got a present--for _you_." - -A joyous light passed over his haggard face. "You thought of me--on -Christmas?" - -"Yes, always. And Peter asked me to keep the presents carefully in my -cedar chest, for we knew you would come back some day. And now----" - -It was Peter's voice that came to them again, much nearer. Donald's -arms fell away from the girl, but she raised her face quickly and -kissed him. Her eyes were filled with tears. - -"Peter is wondering why I do not answer. Please--please----" - -In his indecision he bowed his face in his hands. It was with an effort -that he shook himself free of temptation. - -"I must tell you quickly, and you must understand," he said -desperately. "The police are close after me again. That is why I was -in the great swamp to the north--to get away from them. If I come back -into Peter's life now it can only be for a few hours, and you know what -it will mean--a fresh tragedy for him, a new grief, pain, disgrace, a -black cloud of unhappiness over the paradise which you have made and -can make for him. I have come back to see him, to look at him, to carry -away a new picture of him in my heart. But he must not know. And if -you love Peter--if you care a little for what is in the heart of his -father--you will make it possible for me to look upon my boy. I will -hide here, in the willows; and you two, there under the ash tree----" - -"It is wrong," broke in Mona. "Oh, it is terribly wrong!" - -"No, it is right," he persisted. "It will make me happy--to see him so -near to me, hear his voice and know that life and God and _you_ have -been good to him. If I see Peter, child, if his hands touch me, if we -are together again--it may cost me my life. For those things would hold -me; I could not go away again after that, and the police are near, very -near, and if they should catch me----" - -The sag that came into his shoulders gave eloquence to the thing which -he did not finish, and Mona's eyes burned with a fire which dried up -her tears. "If I bring Peter down there, under the tree, will you -promise not to go away until I have seen you again?" she asked. - -"Yes, I promise that." - -"Even if it is tomorrow, or the next day?" - -"I will wait." - -It was hard for him to lie, looking into the beautiful eyes that were -fixed upon him so steadily. But he did it splendidly; so well that Mona -did not guess the falsehood back of his last great fight. - -She turned from him swiftly with her face toward the meadow. - -"I will bring Peter--down there," she said. - -She ran to the mountain ash tree and in a few breathless seconds -rearranged the luncheon basket and tossed half eaten bits of food into -the pond. Then she hurried across the meadow. Peter's call came to her -again, and this time she answered it. In the deep shade on the farther -side of the meadow she stopped and pressed her hands to her face. Her -cheeks were hot. She was fighting against a sense of overwhelming -guilt, for in this hour, this very minute, she knew she was not only -betraying Peter, but committing the sacrilege of repudiating answered -prayer. And Peter must not know! - -He could not fail to see her excitement, unless--she laughed softly as -the old, sweet thought came to her. Peter loved her hair. He loved to -see it down, as on that first day six years ago when he came upon her -in the edge of the forest near Five Fingers. She paused again, and her -fingers worked swiftly among its lustrous coils until they fell about -her. Peter would guess nothing now--when she came to him like this, in -a way that shut his eyes to all the rest of the world. - -She could hear him coming through the brush. He was running, and she -guessed at the alarm which was urging him because she had failed to -answer his calls until that last time, when she knew her voice had not -sent forth the old cry in just the way it should have greeted Peter. - -She stood very still, so that when Peter leaped over a fallen tree not -twenty paces away from her he did not see her. He stopped, his head -thrown back, breathing quickly, and listening; and in this moment Mona -recalled the other day of years ago when he came into the cutting near -Five Fingers and found her struggling with Aleck Curry, the bully of -the settlement. - -He was the same Peter, only now he was a man. His hair had not darkened -and his eyes were the same blue. He was the clean-cut, fearless, -sensitive Peter who had gone into battle for her against a boy nearly -twice his weight and years older. The years had given a splendid change -to his body. He was still slim, like the old Peter, and there was a -litheness and alertness in him which filled her with pride. She held -her breath, watching him, and exulted when she saw the anxiety in his -face. Then he called again, and in the moment of silence which followed -she suddenly clapped her hands and laughed. - -Peter turned in amazement, and when he saw her standing as she was, -with her long hair streaming about her, he drew in a deep breath, and -the blood surged into his tense face as he came to her. The happiness -which swept his anxiety away brought a responsive glow of joy into her -eyes, and as she held out her arms to him she forgot for a moment the -man hidden among the willows near the mountain ash tree. For a little -while Peter held her so close she could feel the thumping of his heart, -and not until he had kissed her hair and her lips did he seem to have -breath to ask why she had not answered his calls. - -"To punish you for making me wait so long at the pond," she said. -"But"--she raised a soft tress to his lips--"I was sorry, at the last -moment, and did _this_ for you, Peter. Will you forgive me?" - -She was thinking of Donald McRae again, and slipping her hand into -Peter's, she led him toward the pond. And Peter, in the sweetness and -joy of her presence, guessed nothing because her fingers tightened in -his hand or because her breath came more quickly than usual. - -They drew nearer to the ash tree and the willows. She knew that Donald -McRae was now looking upon the face of his boy; she could see the clump -of twisted bushes behind which he was hidden, and caught a movement in -their tops, as if an animal or a breath of wind had disturbed them. - -They were under the ash tree when she flung back her hair, no longer -making an effort to hide from Peter the distress in her face. He was -shocked, even a little terrified at her appearance. Involuntarily her -glance went beyond him to the thicket which concealed Donald McRae. It -was only a few steps away, and she knew Peter's father could distinctly -hear what they said. Then she looked at Peter again, and smiled gently -at his suspense as she raised one of his hands to her lips in the soft -caress that always wiped away his troubles. And in that same moment she -drew him a step nearer to the willows. - -"Something happened before you came," she said, speaking so that Donald -McRae would not lose a word of what she was saying. "I think I must -have had a--a--dream--and it was terrible!" She shuddered, and listened -to the breaking of a twig in the willows. "I am foolish to let it -frighten me." - -His arms were about her, his fingers smoothing back her shining hair as -relief leaped into his face. - -"You were asleep, _Ange_--with me bursting my throat to make you hear -from the forest?" - -She did not answer his question. Instead, she said: "Peter, you have -not lied to me? You believe in prayer?" - -He bent his lips to her white forehead. "Yes, _Ange_, and yours most of -all. God has answered you, and always will." - -"And we have prayed a long time for your father to come back?" - -He nodded wonderingly. "Yes, a long time." - -She spoke slowly then, and her words were for Donald McRae and not for -Peter. - -"And if your father does not come, if you never see him again, your -faith in the God we have prayed to for so long will be a little broken, -will it not, Peter?" - -She waited, holding her breath for fear even that sound might come -between Peter's answer and the man in the bushes. - -"He will come--some day--Mona." - -"That was what he promised you--the day he sent you on alone to Five -Fingers, and ran away from you? And you have always told me that next -to your faith in God you believed in your father. You have never -thought that he lied to you that day in the edge of the forest?" - -He stared at her, speechless, and in that moment she faced the willows -with a glow of triumph in her eyes. - -"Down in the little church at Five Fingers Father Albanel has always -taught us not to lie and to be true to our promise," she said, speaking -directly at the willows. "Peter, if your father should break his -faith, or I should break mine, it would be terrible. And that is what -happened--in my vision--and it has frightened me." She rested her cheek -against his arm so he could not see her face. "I was here--under the -tree--when in this vision your father came. He was ragged and tired and -sick--and so hungry he ate carrots I brought for the beavers. He had -come just to look at you, Peter, but not to let you know. He said it -would make you unhappy; that it was best for you that he should never -come into your life again--and he made me promise not to tell you that -he was here. - -"And I promised. I did--I promised him I would be a traitor to you, -after all the years we have waited for him, and prayed for him, and -_believed_ in him." - -Her arms crept up to his shoulders. "If I should do a thing like that -God would never forgive me, and you--if some day you found out what I -had done--would never have faith in me again. Would you?" - -She hid her face against his shoulder, her heart beating wildly, her -body trembling. For she had seen another movement in the willows and -she was afraid that Donald McRae was going away. - -"It was only a dream," Peter was saying, holding his arms closely about -her. "You are not afraid of dreams, Mona?" - -And then from behind them came a voice. - -"_God forgive me my weakness!_" it cried. "_Peter--Peter----_" - -Donald McRae stood out in the open at the edge of the willow thicket. -He had forgotten the rags and mud that covered him, and was no longer -a fugitive with the lines of a hunted man in his face. The present was -for a space obliterated--the present with its menace of the law, its -exhaustion and its poverty; and he was standing once more in the warm -glow of that day of six years ago when he had said good-by to Peter. -In those seconds, when Peter stood shocked into deathlike stillness by -the sound of the voice behind him, Mona could see Donald McRae with his -outreaching arms; but as Peter turned slowly, facing his father, the -strain broke in a hot flood of tears that blinded her vision. - -And then---- - -"_Dad!_" - -It was the strangest cry she had ever heard from Peter's lips, and -with an answer to that cry in her own choking breast she turned away -as the two men came into each other's arms. She passed out of sight -along the edge of the pond, scarcely seeing the path ahead of her, and -unconsciously she kept repeating Peter's name in a whisper, as if--even -though she had prayed so long for this hour to come--she had never -quite expected its fulfilment. - - - - -CHAPTER XVI - - -Under the ash tree, for a few moments Peter was the boy again; the boy -of yesterday, of years ago, when the world had held nothing for him -but his father; and there was no change in the touch of the hands that -had always given him comfort and courage and a love that was almost -like a woman's in its gentleness. Not until Donald McRae held his boy -off, with a hand on each shoulder, did something besides the madness -of joy at his father's homecoming begin to thrust itself upon Peter. -Then he saw the change--the naked breast, the half-bared arms, the mud -and the rags, and the face and hair in which years had stamped their -heels unpityingly. He tried to choke back his horror, to keep it out -of his face, and to do this he laughed--laughed through the tears and -sobbing breath--and pointed to a white birch tree in which a blue jay -was screaming. - -"The blue jay, dad!" he cried. "Remember that day--behind the log--with -the blue jay in the tree-top, and the sapsucker pecking at our elbows, -and the violets between my knees----" - -The hands on his shoulders were relaxing. - -"I've never seen a blue jay but what I've thought--of you," said -Donald McRae. "And the river--behind us--and how we got away from -the police--and the rabbits we roasted--and--and----" The world was -twisting and turning round again. He tried to smile, and reached -out gropingly for Peter. "The swamp was hot, Peter. And I am -tired--tired----" - -Peter's arms caught him as he swayed. His thin face was whiter, and his -eyes closed as he still tried to smile at his boy. - -Mona, braiding her hair as she waited beyond the willows, heard Peter's -frightened call. When she came running to him he was kneeling beside -his father, cooling his face with water from the pond. Donald McRae lay -upon the grass. He was scarcely breathing, and under the scrub of beard -his emaciated face was like wax. An agony of fear and grief had driven -the happiness out of Peter's face, and he tried to speak as he looked -up at Mona. - -She saw what had happened as she knelt beside him and took Donald -McRae's head tenderly in her arms. Excitement and his last great -effort to fight down his weakness had given a semblance of strength to -this shell of a man. But it was gone now, and the full measure of its -tragedy struck like a charge of lead to Peter's heart. - -Mona, feeling Peter's grief, and guessing swiftly the thought that -had made his wordless lips white and trembling, said to comfort him: -"He hasn't been this way long, Peter. It was the swamp. He told me -the police were after him, and he hid himself there. The heat--bad -water----" - -She tried futilely to explain away the horror of the thing--to make -Peter believe this wreck of a man was not the product of months and -years of hardship and suffering, but had reached his condition because -of a passing torment that had covered only a few days in the swamp. -But she knew she was failing, and she stopped before she had finished, -with her head bowed before Peter's eyes. She heard his tense lips -whisper "the police" as if the words choked him as they came out, and -then he went down again to the edge of the pool for water. She wet her -handkerchief when he returned and held it over Donald's eyes, and Peter -unlaced the worn-out, muddy boots--and suddenly a sound came from him, -a little cry of unutterable understanding as his hand found in the -trampled grass the half-eaten carrot which his father had dropped. - -She had never seen Peter's face so white, and never before had she seen -a look in his blue eyes so unlike the Peter she had grown up with, and -played with, and loved. - -"He is breathing easier," she said. "It was the excitement, the -shock----" - -He nodded, and replied in a dead, even voice: "I know what it was, -_Ange_. I know." He took one of his father's hands and held it between -his own, looking at the face in Mona's arms into which life was -beginning to return and breath to come more evenly. "It has been a -long time, dad. Six years--six years like those three days when the -police were hunting us in the forest, and you caught rabbits for me to -eat. But it is ended now." - -Mona's heart throbbed. "We will keep him with us, Peter--always! We -will hide him--somewhere--never let him go away again! Oh, it will be -easy for us to do that, and Father Albanel--and Simon--will help us----" - -A deeper breath trembled on Donald McRae's lips, but it was not that -breath, or the faint moan that came with it, that stopped her before -she had finished. Peter was looking over her head at something beyond -her. He dropped his father's hand, and what she saw in his face drew -a gasping cry from her even before she knew its cause. She turned and -looked. And then, in an instant, she was on her feet with Peter. - -So quietly that no sound of footfall or breaking twig had given warning -of his approach, a man had stolen upon them. He stood not a dozen feet -away, dressed in the field service uniform of the Provincial Police. -That was the first terrible fact which telegraphed itself to her brain; -the man was an officer, he was after Donald McRae, and he had caught -them! But this first alarm gave place to a greater shock as her eyes -saw the face above the uniform. It was a large, coarse face streaming -with sweat; the lips were heavy, the nose big, and the eyes were small -and too close together for one who bulked so large. It was a face -filled with triumph--an exultation which the man made dramatically -poignant as he stood with his heavy hands on his hips, looking from one -to the other with a smile that was deadly in its promise twisting the -corners of his mouth. - -He did not speak, did not even move, but waited while his presence -crushed like a weight of horror upon the two who were staring at him. -His eyes rested on Mona, and the wicked gleam in them--the thought -which they could not hide, merciless, sure, almost gloating--drew -his name from her lips in a cry that was filled with fear, with half -disbelief, with a note that almost called for pity. - -"_Aleck--Curry!_" - -The man's heavy head nodded, but he did not speak. It was still too -great a moment of triumph to be broken by voice. He looked at Peter, -and then, slowly, significantly, at the unconscious form of Peter's -father. God could not have given him a greater hour than this! For if -it had not been for that man and for Peter, he might have had the girl. -It was Peter who had come in his way from that first day when they had -fought over Mona in the edge of the clearing; it was Peter who had -whipped him, Peter whom he had grown to hate above all other things on -earth--and it was Peter's heart and soul and happiness, almost his very -life, that he now held in the hollow of his hand! - -And he would make him pay. - -"Yes, _it is ended now_," he said, repeating Peter's words of a few -moments before. "And I'm rather glad. The swamp was hot and filled with -mosquitoes." - -Something clinked as he fumbled at his belt and the sound sent a chill -of horror through Mona. He held out the manacle irons so that she could -see them. - -"I've got to do it," he said, a mocking apology in his voice. -"Distasteful, but necessary." He faced Peter. "Your father knew we -were close behind him, and it won't do him any good to play dead. He's -slippery, and I'm going to put these on him. I guess----" He swung his -heavy head toward Mona again. "I guess Father Albanel and old Simon -can't help him very much from now on. It was nice of you to think of -it, though, Mona. You were always so tender-hearted--when it came to -Peter!" - -He was still the old bully and his voice trembled with the suppression -of his triumph. This was his master stroke. It was not capture of the -man whom the law would condemn to hang that thrilled him most; it was -the twisted beauty in Mona's face, the shock and terror in her eyes, -and the helplessness and despair he saw in Peter's. He did not hurry, -did not call for an instant upon the dignity of the law, but twisted -the knife of his vengeance slowly. - -When Mona's eyes turned from him to Peter her heart stood still. He -was gray. There was no blood in his lips. He was looking down upon the -still, upturned face of his father, and his hands were clenched. When -he raised his head she saw that his eyes were no longer Peter's eyes. -He advanced slowly toward Aleck Curry, and the manacles rattled as -Aleck dropped them to his belt and shifted a hand to his pistol holster. - -Peter did not hear the click of steel or sense the menace of the -shifting hand. One thought pounded maddeningly in his brain; his father -had come back to him, he was _home_, and in the first hour of his -return this beast had come into their lives again to break down every -hope and prayer they had built up during the years. In Aleck Curry he -saw not only that merciless law which had run his father like a rat -from hole to hole, but a monster of vicious hate, a lustful, bullying -boy grown into a still more vicious giant--and Peter's desire was to -kill him. - -Mona saw the deadly intent in his slow advance even as Aleck Curry -saw it. She saw more--the hand on the pistol, the tightening fingers, -the dangerous gleam that flashed in Aleck's eyes--and Peter with only -his naked hands! A cry of warning came to her lips--of a terror which -robbed her of the power to move. The cry ended in a scream, for as -Peter leaped in, Aleck raised the pistol and fired. A terrible sickness -came over her, a sickness which for an instant swept away her strength. - -Peter felt the hot breath of the pistol in his face and the explosion -was so near it fell like a blow against his eardrums. It was not a shot -intended only to frighten him, for death had missed him by less than -the width of his hand. Aleck released the trigger of his automatic -and crooked his finger again, but even quicker than that movement was -Peter, who flung himself with all his weight under his enemy's arm -as the second shot was fired. He did not strike, but with both hands -clutched Aleck's wrist, and at the same time tripped his foe so that -they went to the earth together, with Aleck on his back. - -In this instant there came upon Peter a crushing realization of the -almost deadly odds against him. Into every nerve of his body flashed -the truth--that he was fighting a man who wanted to kill him, who in -reality had the right to kill him, and whom the law would not only -vindicate but would commend for killing him. He was an outlaw, fighting -against the almighty omniscience of that law, and what the world would -regard as justice. And his survival now, like that of his father, -depended upon beating it. He must break his enemy's wrist. Get the gun. -Kill or be killed. - -Every ounce of his strength he exerted upon the wrist as Aleck flung -his free arm in a powerful and throttling embrace about his neck. He -drew the wrist in, twisted it, and tried with a sudden effort to give -it the final breaking snap, but it was like a piece of steel that would -not break. The thick fingers did not loosen their hold on the pistol, -and in spite of his desperate effort Peter's staring eyes saw the black -muzzle of the weapon forcing itself a fraction of an inch at a time -toward his body. - -Now, when it was too late, he knew that in this close embrace he was -not a match for Aleck. His quickness and his tirelessness counted for -nothing. Aleck, slow, heavy, with not a quarter of his endurance, but -with the brute strength of three men in his coarse body, could crush -the life out of him in close quarters. Yet these first few thrilling -instants Peter knew this thought was not in the other's mind. All of -his enemy's great strength was being exerted in an effort to point the -pistol at his body. - -Those two or three minutes in which he knew he was fighting to save his -life seemed like an eternity to Peter. He saw Aleck's face, twisted in -a leering grin, its bloodshot eyes laughing at him, its thick mouth -mocking him as the powerful arm and wrist broke down with a slow, -torturing sureness all the force he was putting against it. The gun -was already at right angles to his body, and suddenly Peter realized -why Aleck Curry had not used the choking force of his other arm before -this. He had waited for the right moment--and that moment had come. The -arm tightened. It was like a half-ring of steel, crushing Peter's neck -and twisting his head so that his widening eyes left the pistol and -stared into the lower branches of the ash tree. - -In that moment he saw Mona. She was staggering up from the edge of the -pond with something in her hands which looked like a chunk of mud. Her -face passed over him, desperately white, and then she had fallen on her -knees and he could hear the _beat_, _beat, eat_ of that something in -her hands close to his ears. A terrible cry came from Aleck Curry, and -the throttling arm about Peter's neck relaxed until he could turn his -head again, and he saw Mona pounding his foe's pistol hand with the -stone that had looked like a chunk of mud. He saw the hand redden with -blood saw the thick fingers loosen their grip on the pistol, and then -swift as a flash Mona had snatched the big automatic and was backing -away with it in her hand. - -With a mighty, upward heave of his body Peter freed himself, and with -that movement came a wild cry out of him, a joyous approval of what -Mona had done. Aleck lunged after him. They came to their feet. Peter's -fist shot out to the other's jaw, and as Aleck staggered backward, -almost falling under the force of the blow, Peter turned to take the -pistol from Mona. She was halfway to the pond, and even as he cried out -in warning and dismay the weapon left her hand, circled through the air -and disappeared with a splash in the water. At his cry she faced him -and ran back and thrust the mud-covered rock in his hand. Then he saw -the terror in her eyes--the agony of fear that had made her throw away -the weapon that had almost taken his life. - -He let the rock slip from his fingers and fall to the ground in spite -of the exclamation of protest which came from her white lips. He did -not see her stoop quickly and pick it up as he advanced to meet Aleck -Curry. His foe was hunched forward, like a gorilla, his head lowered, -his huge fists clenched, his face distorted by the shock of Peter's -blow and a rage which gave him a terrible aspect. - -Then he rushed in, his arms apart, his great hands reaching for the man -he hated. With the quickness of a cat Peter met his attack, avoiding -the arms and the huge hands, leaping in, striking and darting back. -He drove blow after blow, and one of them, catching Aleck again on -the jaw, had behind it all the weight and force of his body. But even -that scarcely more than rocked the brutish head on its thick neck. -He advanced slowly and steadily, taking the blows as he moved like a -juggernaut upon Peter, driving him an inch at a time toward the edge of -the pool. - -Suddenly Mona ran in from behind, and with both hands she raised her -stone and beat it between Aleck's shoulders. She raised it again, -trying to strike his neck or his head, when with a bellow Aleck flung -himself around, his great arm flying out like a beam. The blow caught -Mona with all its force and sent her in a crumpled heap to the earth. -Not a cry came from her lips, but a yell of fury burst from Peter's. He -rushed in, and a hurricane of blows smashed into Aleck's face, cutting -his lips, blinding him and choking the breath in his throat. But in -that blindness and pain his hand reached out and caught Peter as their -feet sank in the mud at the edge of the pond. A cry of triumph came -from his bleeding mouth. At last his moment had come. - -As Peter felt himself dragged into the deadly embrace his mind worked -swiftly. His one chance now lay in the depths of the pool, and unless -he could get his enemy there he was lost. Thrusting up his hands, he -clenched them in Aleck's hair and put all his weight in dragging the -head downward. The movement had its effect, and a step was gained -toward the edge of the muddy shelf that terminated abruptly in eight -feet of water. Unconscious of the trap, Aleck bent himself forward, -putting all the crushing strength of his arms in the grip about Peter's -body, and as Peter flung the weight of his head and shoulders in the -same direction their balance was upset and they plunged into the pond. - -As they struck the water Peter drew a great breath into his lungs, -and in the same moment his foe relaxed his grip and began to flounder -wildly in an element in which, even in the days of their boyhood, he -had never been at home. His face rose above the surface for an instant, -and Mona saw it as she staggered to the edge of the pond. It was then -a deadly weight attached itself to one of his kicking legs, and not -until Peter had dragged his burden to the muddy bottom of the beaver -stronghold did he release his hold. He shot up for air, and scarcely -had Aleck's body struggled to the surface when he dived again, and a -second time bore his victim under. This time he expelled most of the -air in his lungs, and for a few seconds hung on like an anchor. - -A third and a fourth time, Aleck rose, fighting for his life, but -the fifth time it was Peter who buoyed him up and brought him nearly -unconscious to the shore. He noticed the livid mark made by Aleck's -hand on Mona's forehead as she helped him drag the heavy body out of -the water. In another half-minute he had the manacles intended for his -father about Curry's wrists, and with his belt he securely lashed his -prisoner's legs together. Then he faced Mona. - -The same question was in their eyes. In Mona's it was a wordless -terror. Peter looked at his father. He was stirring. A hand rose weakly -from the grass. He had seen nothing of the struggle, heard nothing, and -thought of him was first to leap into Peter's mind. - -"He doesn't know what has happened!" he panted. "We must get him -away, Mona. If anything would kill him now, it would be knowledge of -this--that the law has found him--and that I--in helping him--have -become an outlaw myself." - -She came to him quickly and put her hands to his face, just as she -had done on that other day years ago when he had fought his great -battle with Aleck. "They can't blame you alone, Peter. I helped." She -held up her lips, but instead of kissing them he pressed his own to -the reddening mark on her forehead. "There is the little cabin," she -whispered. "We can take your father there. And--I love you, Peter!" - -She stood back from him, her eyes shining with sudden inspiration. - -Aleck Curry had coughed the water out of his lungs and was twisting -in his bonds. His voice called loudly as Peter bent over his father. -Donald's eyes were opening. - -"We must hurry!" urged Mona. "We must get away--where he is safe--where -he cannot be found!" - -Peter raised his father in his arms. The weight of the emaciated body -sent a stab of pain through him. It was as if he had picked up the limp -form of a boy. - -Mona, close at his side, smiled into the grief-filled eyes he turned -toward her. Together they hurried across the meadow. And then Mona ran -on ahead, following a scarcely worn path through deep timber until in a -few moments she came to another little meadow; here, under a clump of -hardwoods, was a tiny cabin of logs--the "play-house" Peter had built -for her two winters ago as a refuge and rest place for her when she -came to visit her beaver pets. Inside a screened porch was a couch of -saplings, and on this she had spread blankets and cushions by the time -Peter arrived. - -Donald's eyes were wide open, and he was smiling up wanly at Peter. -"Never thought the day would come when you'd be lugging your dad -around like this, did you, Peter?" he asked, and tried to laugh. But -the moment his head touched the soft cushions his eyes closed again. -Peter drew Mona away. "There is a boat down on the shore of the lake," -he said, his voice steady again. "I'm going to force Aleck Curry -into it and take him out to that little rock island two miles from -the mainland. No one ever goes near it, and we can keep him there a -prisoner until dad gets well, and then----" An angry yell came from the -beaver pond. "Aleck is getting nervous," he finished. "You stay with -dad, Mona. Tell him I've gone to Five Fingers for things he needs. I'll -come back that way, and will get here before dark. Good-by, _Ange_!" - -He kissed her. For a moment Mona clung to his hand. - -"When you are down by the big stub--and if everything is all -right--send me back the call," she entreated. - -She watched him until he disappeared. Then she sat down close beside -Donald McRae and held one of his limp hands. After what seemed to be a -long time there came back to her clearly Peter's signal-cry, telling -her that all was well, and that he was on his way to the prison island -with Aleck Curry. - -Over the forest fell a deep and quieting silence. Never had it seemed -so intense to Mona, as she sat with Donald McRae's hand held closely -in her own. The man's fingers were intertwined with hers as if he was -afraid she would leave him; and his breath, coming more evenly and yet -as faintly as the breath of a child, told her that complete exhaustion -had at last overcome him with a sleep that was almost like death. - -Twilight dusk began to fill the aisles of the woods, and with this dusk -the last red glow died out of the west, and with it came the hour Mona -loved more than all others--when darkness began to close in a velvety -mantle over the world. The stillness, the soft whisperings of the -forest and the peace that always came with night gave her courage and -strengthened her faith. And at last, from beyond the beaver pond, she -heard again Peter's cry. He was returning. - -And as if he, too, had heard that cry, Donald McRae stirred softly and -whispered Peter's name. - - - - -CHAPTER XVII - - -Quietly Mona went out to meet Peter. "He is sleeping," she said, as -Peter's arm closed about her in the thickening darkness. "If he can -only pass the night that way he will be strong and well again in the -morning." Yet her voice trembled as she tried to bring him comfort. -"Aleck is safe?" she whispered. "He is on the island?" - -"Yes, he is safe for tonight--and maybe for a number of days. After -that----" - -He stopped, not knowing how to finish, and Mona's soft hand caressed -his cheek. "We will tell Simon, and Uncle Pierre, and Father Albanel," -she suggested. "Surely they will know how to help us!" - -"I've been thinking about that," he said slowly, with his lips against -her hair. "You must promise me not to tell them, Mona. I think it is -necessary. At least they must not know until tomorrow or the next day. -Will you remember that?" - -"You are sure it is best?" - -"I believe so." - -"Then I will remember." - -They drew near to the door of the cabin and listened. Faintly they -could hear Donald McRae's breath as he slept. - -"I must take you home," he whispered. - -They hurried through the gloom, hand in hand. In half an hour they -had reached the cliff trail that led to Five Fingers, and here Mona -insisted that Peter turn back, while she went on alone. She was glad -Pierre and Josette were at Joe's house when she came to the settlement. -She called good night to them through the open door, and went to her -room, with the excuse that she was tired. - -She sat down at her window, and watched the moon come up. Later she -heard Pierre and Josette when they returned. And after that, one after -another, the lights went out in Five Fingers until the cabins lay like -great shadows in the slumbering stillness. In this stillness she heard -the clock in her bedroom tick off every second of the hours. - -Until now she had never believed that answered prayer could bring with -it a grimness and torture of tragedy like that which had descended -upon her life and Peter's. Passionately she sobbed out her hatred for -Aleck Curry, the monster who at last had descended upon them with his -vengeance. - -As the hours dragged on she found herself fighting more and more -desperately against the desire to steal quietly from her room, tiptoe -down the stairs and go to Simon McQuarrie's cabin that she might -confide in him all that had happened that afternoon. Only Peter's -warning to keep their secret locked tightly in her own breast held -her back. Yet in Simon rested her last hope, for from the first day -Peter had come into the old Scotchman's life he had found home--and a -protection and love which in Mona's thoughts made him almost of Simon's -flesh and blood. The impulse to go to him--to be false to Peter for -the first time in her life--was a torment in her brain, and where -one little voice had urged her at first, a hundred added to their -insistence now. Slowly the revolt became a conviction that it was right -and reasonable she should go to Simon, in spite of her promise to Peter. - -Quietly she opened the door to her room and went down the stairs, -making no sound to disturb Pierre and Josette Gourdon. A slim, pale -figure, she crossed the clearing and paused in the shadow of the cabin -where the Scotchman lived. Instinctively she looked up at Peter's -window even though she knew he was in the forest with his father. -Then she knocked on the door. Her heart throbbed as she listened for -a response inside. It seemed to beat loudly, as if crying out against -her faithlessness in breaking a promise to Peter. She knocked again, -and in a moment she could hear McQuarrie moving. She counted his slow -footsteps as they came across the floor. Then the door opened, and his -tall, gaunt figure stood above her, swathed in a nightgown that fell to -the toes of his feet. At any other time Mona would have laughed at the -grotesqueness of his appearance as he stared down into her white face, -with a nightcap on the back of his head. - -He reached out a hand. "_Ange!_" he gasped. "_You!_ What is the matter?" - -She slipped past him and closed the door. - -"Please light a lamp," she said. "Please----" - -Simon struck a match. The flare of it illumined his face, tense and set -in its amazement. When the lamp was lighted he took down a coat from a -peg in the wall and put it on. Then he turned to Mona again. She stood -before him with her hands clasped at her breast, and in her dark eyes -was a look that alarmed him. And he could see in her bare throat the -little heart-beating throb that always came when she was stirred by -deep emotion. - -With a desperate little cry she caught his hand. "Something terrible -has happened," she whispered. "Something--you should know. But I -promised Peter. I promised him I would tell no one--not even you. But -I've got to turn that promise into a lie. If I don't----" The words -broke on her lips. And then: "Peter's father has come back. He is with -Peter now in the cabin near the beaver pond!" - -Simon McQuarrie stood back from her, his hands dropping slowly and -limply to his sides. Then he raised one of them as if to brush a -shadow from his forehead, and his nightcap fell to the floor. "Donald -McRae--has come back!" he repeated, and the deep lines in his face -softened as Mona looked at him, and joy trembled in his voice when he -spoke. "Thank God, _Ange_! Why do you think it is so terrible? We have -waited and hoped for a long time----" He stopped. What he saw in her -face and eyes swept a sudden change into his own, and he caught her arm -as the gladness died on his lips. "Has anything happened?" he demanded. -"Has anything happened--to Peter--or to Donald McRae?" - -She began telling him in a low voice, while Simon stared at her with -his big hands reaching out as if to grip at something in the space -between them. - -"I was at the beaver pond when Peter's father staggered out of the -willows and almost fell at my feet. I didn't know who the man was, but -he was sick and tired and starving--so hungry he ate carrots I had -meant for the beavers. I gave him our lunch, and while he was eating I -learned he was Peter's father. It made me happy. Peter was coming to -join me, and I told Donald McRae. He begged me not to let Peter know -he was there. He wanted to hide in the bushes, and look at him without -being seen, and then go away again. He said that was why he had come -back--just to get a look at his boy. He told me the police were after -him again, that they were driving him like a rat from hole to hole, and -that his presence could only bring unhappiness and tragedy to Peter. So -he hid in the willows, and Peter came." - -"And then?" - -"In the end Peter's father staggered out of the bushes, and I left -them together. Peter called me a little later and I ran back. Donald -McRae was on the ground and at first I thought he was dead. Not until -then did I realize how terribly sick and weak he was. We were on our -knees beside him when he looked up, and there--there--grinning down at -us--was the man Peter's father had been running away from. Oh, he was -terrible--big and sweaty and leering down at us, almost laughing in his -triumph, and--Simon--Simon--it was _Aleck Curry_!" - -Her despair broke in a sobbing cry, and now the bones of Simon's great -hands made a snapping sound as he clenched them, and his thin, hard -face was gray in the glow of the lamp. "What happened then, Mona?" - -"When Aleck went to put the manacles on Peter's father there was a -fight--a terrible fight--and Aleck tried to kill Peter with a gun. He -shot twice. I helped with a stone, and at last Peter got him into the -pond, and almost drowned him. His father was still unconscious when we -carried him to the cabin. Then Peter took Aleck down to his boat and to -the little rock island two miles out from the shore. He is there now--a -prisoner. And--what will happen to Peter? What can the law do to him?" - -Simon paced slowly back and forth across the floor. His face was a mask -of iron. His long nightgown flapped about his feet, and again his big, -hard hands hung limp and straight at his sides. - -"If Aleck escapes from the island and arrests Peter, or reports -the affair to headquarters, it means the penitentiary," he said as -if speaking to himself rather than to Mona. "And that is what will -happen--if Curry has his way. He hates Peter. He would like to see -Donald McRae hung, and Peter in prison, and _you_----" A tigerish gleam -was in his eyes as he faced her. "Why didn't Peter kill him when he -had the chance?" he cried, as for a single moment his self-control -broke its leash. "As a boy he was a brute and a bully, and as a man his -soul is that of a monster--even though now he is a part of the law. -He wanted you--always. I know it and could see it even when you were -children. And for what he wants he would wreck the world. Why didn't -Peter kill him? Why--with these two hands----" He reached out his long -arms and his fingers closed like talons of steel. Then he checked -his passion. His arms dropped again. "But it is best he didn't," he -finished. "It is best--even though a snake has a better right to live -than Aleck Curry!" - -He continued his pacing across the floor, and with each step his stern -face grew harder until at last it seemed to have no emotion at all--the -hard, set, fighting face which Simon McQuarrie always turned upon his -enemies. For a few moments he seemed to forget Mona. Then he asked: -"What is Peter going to do? What does he _plan_ to do?" - -The question was so sharp it sent a little shiver through her, and -Simon's eyes were looking at her with the steely coldness of ice. - -"I don't know. Peter doesn't know--except that he means to keep Aleck -Curry on the island until his father is well and can get safely away." - -Simon grunted. "You mean the rock with nothing on it--two miles -straight out from the beaver pond?" - -"Yes." - -The fingers of Simon's hands were twisting again. - -"Constable Carter dropped in on us late this afternoon," he said -shortly. "He told Pierre and Dominique he was on his way into the -Georgian Bay country and would rest here for a few days. He lied. He's -working with Aleck Curry, and if Aleck doesn't show up soon--if he -starts smoke signals going out on the island, and Carter sees them----" - -"Aleck hasn't any matches," Mona interrupted him quickly. "Peter took -them away from him." - -Simon's face was lightened for an instant by a flash of exultation. -"Peter is improving," he conceded. "If he had only used as good -judgment at the beaver pond, when he could have rid us of this snake -forever----" - -Mona's cry of horror stopped him. In a moment he was at her side, and -his long arms were about her tenderly. "I didn't mean that, Ange!" he -cried, trying to laugh as he saw the agony of fear in her eyes. "It's -a bad situation, so bad that I don't see a way out for Peter just -now--but we won't kill Aleck, and we'll get Peter out of it somehow. -He was right in making you promise not to tell anyone, and I'll keep it -all to myself--even from Peter and my old friend Donald McRae--until -Carter leaves the settlement. I'll manage to get him away in a day or -two. And meanwhile you and Peter must keep Curry on the island, and -watch every step you take so that Carter won't get suspicious. And -above everything else--_most important of all_--don't tell Peter you -have confided in me. Let me know everything that happens, but don't -tell Peter that I know. Do you understand, Mona?" - -She felt the suppression of something in his voice that was unlike -Simon McQuarrie, something that thrilled and frightened her, yet she -nodded her head and said: "Yes, I understand. I won't let Peter know. -And I'll tell you--everything." - -His arms drew her a little closer, and in him above all other men -she had faith in that moment. She did not see his face above her, a -face which for a single instant darkened with a look so pitiless and -menacing that even Simon sensed the danger of its betrayal, and held -her for a moment longer. Then with the gentleness which love for Mona -and Peter had bred into his stern nature, he led her to the door. - -"You must go home now, and to bed," he said. "It is your fight as -well as Peter's, and you mustn't let anyone see that you are worried -tomorrow--especially Carter." He opened the door. "Good night, _Ange_!" - -"Good night!" she whispered as she slipped out. - -He closed the door and listened for a moment to her retreating -footsteps. When he faced the lamp and looked up at Peter's room, a new -and strange light was in his eyes, and he spoke softly, as if to the -spirit of someone who was waiting and listening up there. - -"It's my turn now, and I'll care for Peter," he said. "A long time ago -Donald McRae killed the man who insulted his mother, and it is no more -than right and just that Simon McQuarrie should kill the man who would -destroy her boy." - -Then, slowly, he began to dress. - -For a little while Mona hesitated in the shadow of the tall spruce tree -that grew not far from Simon's door. She could hear her heart beating -as she looked back at the light in the cabin. She was glad it was over, -glad she had told Simon the truth, even as she thought of her promise -to Peter. - -Yet one thing she had kept to herself, and for a moment she felt the -urge to go back and confide in the iron-willed Scotchman her own -personal fear of Aleck Curry. Never until this night had she been -afraid of him. She had defied and hated him as a young girl, and as -she grew older had loathed and repulsed him for the persistence of his -passion. To fear him had never entered her head, even in the days when -once or twice she had used her hands in defending herself against, his -unwelcome attentions. - -But now she knew that Aleck's hour had come. Even though he was -temporarily a prisoner on the island, he held her happiness and Peter's -fate in the hollow of his hand. That fact, its significance, its -terrible import for her, she had seen in Aleck's exultant face and eyes -at the pool. In that hour his joy and triumph was not that he had run -down Peter's father, but that _she_ at last had come within the reach -of his desires. And the fight had added to his mastery, for it had -outlawed Peter and had given to the man she hated the final power to -wreck her world. And she, of all that world, was the only one who knew -what Aleck's price for the freedom of those she loved would be. - -The thought was a monstrous thing in her brain. She had fought it, -had beaten it back with the strength of her will, and she struggled -with it again as she turned away from the light in Simon's window. -Her hands clenched and a bit of savagery leaped through her blood as -she went again through the moonlight. She had seen the deadly fire in -the Scotchman's eyes, and that fire was now in her own. Over and over -she told herself that she was still unafraid of Aleck Curry. Her lips -whispered the words. But in her heart, fixed and implacable, remained -the fear. - -She had almost reached the shadow of Pierre Gourdon's cabin when -a figure stepped out to meet her. It was Peter. His startled face -questioned her in the moonlight. - -"I thought you were asleep," he said in a low voice. "And so--I was -passing under your window. I wanted to be near you for a few moments." - -He put his arms about her and looked anxiously into her face, and then -he laid his lips against her soft hair. - -"It was impossible." She shivered against him. "I undressed, as you -told me to do, and I went to bed. But I had to get up. I kept thinking, -thinking--until I felt like screaming, or jumping out of my window and -running to you." - -"You are a little frightened, _Ange_--after what happened at the pool. -But it will all come out right. Aleck is safe. He can't harm us----" - -She looked up quickly, and saw in his eyes the same look that had been -in Simon's. Her arms tightened about him. - -"Peter, you don't need to hide anything from me," she protested. "We're -both thinking the same thing--afraid of the same thing. It's Aleck -Curry--and what he will do when he gets off the island. We can keep him -there until your father is well, and safe. But after that--what will -happen to you?" - -Peter tried to laugh. "They can't do anything worse than send me to -prison, and if they do that--would you mind waiting for me, _Ange_?" - -She knew the effort he was making to speak lightly, almost playfully, -and her heart throbbed with the eager quickness of her answer. "I would -wait for you all my life, Peter." - -With a sudden movement he drew her into the shadow of the cabin. His -eyes were searching the farther edge of the clearing. - -"Look!" he said. - -Her eyes pierced the moon glow. And then, dimly, she saw a moving -shadow. It came nearer, and turned toward Simon's cabin. Instinctively -she guessed who it was, but waited for Peter to speak. - -"I found him nosing around when I returned to the settlement," he said. -"A little while ago he was here, looking up at your window; then he -went to Simon's, and afterward sneaked off into the edge of the forest. -I don't know who he is, but I was within ten feet of him and he wears a -uniform like Aleck's. He is watching for dad. He is also suspicious and -is wondering why Aleck doesn't show up." - -"His name is Carter," said Mona. "He came to Five Fingers this -afternoon." - - - - -CHAPTER XVIII - - -For a long time they stood in the shadow of the cabin, and the sleepy -stillness of the night with its soft chirping of crickets and gentle -murmuring of the lake surf brought a soothing peace to Mona. With -Peter's arms about her she was no longer afraid. He told her what had -happened since she left his father. Twice Donald McRae had awakened -from his sleep of exhaustion and had asked for her. A thrill of -pleasure was in Peter's voice as he told her this; it made him happy -to know that his father loved her, and that he even whispered her name -in his feverish slumber. Some day the whole of their prayer would be -answered; things would turn out right; and they would all be happy. - -Not until he had gone, and she was alone in her room, did Mona note how -swiftly the time had passed. The hour hand of the little clock was at -three. She did not undress, but sat down at her window, with her face -turned toward the coming of the dawn. And now that Peter's love and -the unbreakable strength of his optimism were no longer at her side, -her thoughts began pressing upon her again, dispelling the comfort he -had given her and weakening once more her faith and hope in what the -day would bring. She was glad she confided in Simon, for he was the -rock to which she clung in these hours of her own helplessness. And -yet--what could Simon do? Wherein was he less helpless than herself--or -Peter? She shivered as she recalled the grim and terrible look that -had last rested in his face. And that same look had been in Peter's--a -flash which he had tried to hide from her! Her heart jumped and for an -instant her fingers clutched at the sill of her window. Would one of -them--Simon or Peter--_kill Aleck Curry_? - -It seemed to her that a terrible truth rushed upon her all at once and -caught like a living thing at her throat until it was difficult for -her to breathe. There was no hope for Peter as long as Aleck lived! -The words almost came from her lips. Unless Peter ran away, wandering -and hiding like his father, no power could keep him from going to -prison. But if Aleck should never leave the little island--if he died -there--and no one knew of the fight at the pool---- - -She bowed her face in her arms. It would be so easy of -accomplishment--so terribly and frighteningly easy! Peter might do it! -And Simon--the look in his face--his eyes--what he said---- - -"No, no, no," she whispered to herself. "Anything--anything but that!" - -She raised her head to meet the first rose-flush of the dawn. But this -morning there was no responsive thrill in Mona's breast. A question -was repeating itself in her brain. Would she be able to go through -the day without giving herself away? Could she meet Pierre and Josette -Gourdon, and Marie Antoinette, and Father Albanel, and Adette and Jame -Clamart--and not let them see her torture? Would it show in her face -when she met Carter, of the Provincial Police? - -Until the first white spirals of smoke began rising from the cabin -chimneys she sat at her window. Then she rose, and her beautiful face -was almost stern in its resolution. She let the sunlight stream into -her room, and in its radiance she unbraided her hair and brushed it -until it lay about her in the rippling glory that made Peter the -happiest and proudest of all men. She dressed it carefully, and -tried to sing as she made herself ready to help Josette with the -breakfast--for she always sang in this first hour of the day. But the -notes seemed to stifle her this morning. - -It was then, looking out from her window, that she saw a grayish haze -rising between her and the face of the sun, and the smell of it came to -her faintly. It was smoke. - -When she went below it was Pierre she met first. He kissed her. But -anxiety was in his face. - -"It is happening again this year," he said. "The forests to the north -and west are afire. It will not come near Five Fingers, but it makes my -heart ache to know that a world is being turned dead and black because -of someone's carelessness!" - -So it was the fire which gave Mona an excuse for what was lacking in -her eyes when she went to help Josette with the breakfast. And it was -this same fire, with its thickening gloom of smoke, which helped her -through the day. For to Mona a living tree had life and soul, and to -see trees destroyed in countless thousands was a tragedy in her life -only a little less terrible than the plague of smallpox which had once -cast its shadow upon Five Fingers. - -She went to Simon's cabin as soon after breakfast as she could make -an excuse, and there she met Carter. Her first glimpse of him filled -her with uneasiness and dislike. He was a hawk-nosed, shifty-eyed man -in whom nature seemed to have sacrificed every softening quality to -an uncompromising sense of duty, and his eyes rested upon her face so -intently as Simon introduced them that she felt her heart tremble. But -if he knew of her previous visit to Simon's cabin, or of her meeting -with Peter, he gave no evidence of it, and after a casual remark or two -about the fire he left her alone with the Scotchman. - -A worried look was in McQuarrie's eyes. - -"I've found out more about Carter," he said. "He is the best man in -this division and is never sent out on minor affairs. Leaving us so -quickly right now shows how clever he is. He doesn't want to create -suspicion. He dropped in to ask me the best trail northwest, and says -he is going to leave in half an hour to make a report on the fire. -That's another lie. In the woods he is like a cat, and he won't go -half a mile from the settlement. He is wondering where Peter is, and if -he once gets on his trail----" Suddenly he drew his hands together, and -a grim smile gathered about his mouth. "If Carter goes to that fire, -I'm going with him!" he exclaimed. "Five Fingers is interested, and he -cannot very well turn me down." - -In a few words Mona told of Peter's visit; and then, standing so near -that he could not avoid the directness of her eyes, she gave low voice -to her suspicion that either he or Peter was planning to kill Aleck -Curry. - -The effect of her words on Simon startled her. He stood dumb, staring -at her. Then one of his bony hands reached out and rested on her -shoulder. Its fingers hurt her. "Don't even whisper that anywhere--but -here," he said. "You understand? _Don't!_ Peter won't kill him. And I'm -not worrying about Aleck Curry now. It's Carter." - -He left her without another word, and went out to overtake Carter. -There was something so grim and foreboding in his movement that it -chilled her, and as she dropped a few steps behind him she noticed his -boots. At midnight she had seen them in his cabin, clean and freshly -oiled. Now they were frosted with half-dried mud to their tops. His -sourness, the harshness of his fingers on her shoulder, his silence -now and the aggressive hunch of his shoulders, together with the mud -on his boots, tightened her breath. Had Simon already accomplished the -thing she feared? Was that why he was so anxious to follow Carter, go -with him--get him away from Five Fingers? She ran up to him, meaning to -demand the truth. - -He anticipated her intention and spoke almost roughly. "Don't ask -questions, Mona. Carter has stopped, and is looking. Go home--and stay -in if you can't keep control of yourself." - -The rest of the morning Mona waited anxiously for Peter. At noon, when -they were at dinner, Pierre Gourdon talked of little but the fire. It -had surely crossed the line of rail thirty miles north, he said, and -was traveling steadily eastward. If the wind should quicken and swing -into the south there would be danger to the forests about Five Fingers. -But the settlement itself was safe, protected as it was by fire-lines -and cultivated fields on three sides, and Lake Superior on the other. - -He wondered where Simon McQuarrie was, and asked Mona if she had seen -Peter. He surmised they had gone back to the crests of the high ridges -to make a closer observation of the fire. He had already sent out Jame -Clamart and Poleon Dufresne to guard the northern ridges, and if the -fire threatened to break coastward, all the men in Five Fingers would -go out to fight it. He had made preparations. But he didn't like the -way Peter and Simon were missing, without leaving any word behind them. -Carter was gone, too. - -Afternoon saw smoke settling like a thin fog about the clearing. The -sun was entirely hidden. Animals and fowls came up to the buildings, -and men and women gave up their work to discuss with one another the -possibilities of the next few hours. A dozen times Mona repressed the -desire to steal away and go to the little cabin where Donald McRae was -hidden. She knew Peter was there, and now that the smoke was thickening -she believed he would soon leave for the settlement. - -She noticed how hot and sultry it had grown in the last hour. Scarcely -a breath of air was stirring, and in the middle of the afternoon Adette -Clamart insisted that she go with her for a swim down in the inlet. -While they were in the water Peter came up from the lake in a boat. -His sail was down and he was rowing. Adette Clamart covered her pretty -eyes with her two hands while he bent over to kiss Mona, and in that -moment he whispered, "I want to see you in the cabin." He was acting -strangely, Mona thought. - -A few minutes later she joined him in the cabin. - -"Dad is better," Peter said. "But tonight I'm going to get him -away--somewhere. I'm afraid of the fire. With a bad wind it would be on -us in an hour or two. Right now I want to take some supplies over to -Aleck Curry. Then I'll come back and see you before I return to dad. -There's a little breeze on the lake, and I can make the island in an -hour. Have you seen Carter?" - -"This morning. He hasn't been here since then." - -"And Simon?" - -"He is gone, too." - -She got a bundle she had prepared and said good-by to Peter but not -until he had promised to return directly from the island by way of the -inlet. She watched him until he disappeared in the gray haze that hung -over the water, and then looked at the clock to mark the time he would -be returning. Scarcely had she done this when a figure stalked past one -of the windows. Instantly she recognized it as Simon McQuarrie. He went -straight to his cabin, entered it and closed the door. _And Carter was -not with him!_ - -Her heart throbbed as she went outside, determined to follow him. But -something held her back. Then she forced herself to follow her first -impulse, and a moment later was knocking at Simon's door. There was no -answer. She persisted, knocking loudly and calling his name, and still -there was no response. Then she tried the door and found it locked. -Where there had been fear in her breast there was now conviction. The -tiger in the old Scotchman had been at work, and in his own way--_and -the only way_--he had solved the great problem of her life and Peter's, -and had made the world free again for his old friend Donald McRae. He -had rid the island of Aleck Curry, and had done away with Carter. And -now he wanted to be alone--alone in his cabin! - -Not for a moment did she question the reasonableness of her -conviction. It seized upon her like a many-tentacled thing, choking -back her doubt and overwhelming her with its certainty. It made her -steal pantingly to the edge of the forest, and then to the beginning -of the long finger of spruce and cedar that reached away out to the -entrance of Middle Finger Inlet. Half an hour later she was on the sand -and gravel beach under the big cliff, waiting for Peter's return. And -now she noticed a change in the wind. Loose tresses of her hair blew -seaward. That meant the fire would come over the ridges! - -In another quarter of an hour she could scarcely see the farther side -of Middle Finger Inlet. A black pall of smoke was creeping closer in -the north and west. Then, very faintly, she saw something creeping -up like a ghost out of the smoke gloom of the sea. She knew it was -Peter. He was coming with nerve-racking slowness, it seemed to her. Yet -she did not want to cry out to him until he was nearer. He was using -his oars, and at times there was a half-minute interval between his -strokes. Why was he so slow? Was it because of what he had found on the -island? Surely Simon would have left no telltale signs. So far as Peter -was concerned Aleck Curry could only be _missing_--nothing more! - -A shudder ran through her. Then she cried Peter's name. Her voice -carried strangely clear. There was silence in the boat. The oars were -resting without a sound. - -"Peter," she cried again. "Peter! I am here--on the point!" - -He must have heard her, and it was unusual that he did not answer. -But the oars rattled again, and she could see the shape of the boat -turning slowly, and then growing larger as it came toward her. It was -odd, too, that Peter did not come directly to the point, but grounded -his boat among the big rocks fifty yards below her--a place where he -knew it was difficult for her to go. So she stood on the white sand, -waiting for him. She could hear his boots on the rocks; then she saw -him approaching through a dusk of early twilight thickened by the smoke -of the fire. - -"Here I am, Peter," she called softly. - -It did not seem like Peter, for the figure was grotesquely large, and -slower of movement. She held out her arms, and her eyes were glowing. -It was the smoke and the dusk that made Peter look like that! And then -her heart stopped beating. The figure was within ten feet of her. It -was not Peter. _It was Aleck Curry!_ - - - - -CHAPTER XIX - - -In that moment Mona felt for the first time in her life the giving -way of living tissue under the sudden overwhelming stress of complete -shock. Strength left her body, her arms dropped limply, and she felt -herself swaying, as if about to fall. Had there been anything near her -she would have caught at it. She did not know that to Aleck Curry she -was betraying no physical sign of her weakness--that she was standing -like a lifeless creature carved out of rock, except that her wide eyes -were blazing and her lips parted. What seemed an age to her covered -but a few seconds. Then her mind leaped back, fierce in its command of -her. She was wrong! Simon had not been to the island! He had not harmed -Aleck Curry--and Aleck had returned in Peter's boat. _What had happened -to Peter?_ - -She did not ask the question. It blazed out of her eyes as Aleck -advanced until he was almost within arm's reach of her. He had on only -shirt and trousers, and he was barefooted. She could see his naked -throat. And surprise, joy, the knowledge of his mastery lay in his -heavy face. It was transformed. He smiled at her, and his great arms -reached out as if he were Peter and she would come into them. - -"I made a bargain with Peter," he said, "and he changed places with me. -I made him see how much it meant for him, and for his father, and for -you. I'd let his father go and forget everything--for something I want. -So he changed places with me, and I've come to see you. Lucky you're -here. Lucky you called." - -It was a clumsy lie, and stumbled on his lips. The menace of him -filled her with horror. But she did not let him see it--now. He came a -step nearer, and she backed away from him. Suddenly her mind whipped -inspirational words from her lips. She looked up swiftly to the top of -the cliff. "I don't want Carter to see you here," she cried quickly. -"He walked down the point with me, and I think he's up there." - -The significance of her words was not lost upon Aleck. He moved nearer -to the cliff, so that one above could not see them. She followed him, -fighting back her fear. - -"Why don't you want Carter to see us?" he asked in a throaty whisper. - -"Because--if he saw us--everything would be lost. You would not dare -help me then. And you will, Aleck--you will help me, won't you?" He was -stunned by the change in her. She had laid a hand on his arm. Her eyes -were shining at him. "But you must tell me the truth. There isn't any -need to lie. What did you do to Peter--when he came to the island?" -Her fingers pressed his flesh. There was almost a smile on her lips. - -"The smoke was thick," said Aleck. "I heard him coming and hid in -the water. Then I stunned him with a club. He ain't bad--not badly -hurt--but he's safe enough on the island!" - -Mona crushed back the little cry of relief that wanted to come to -her lips. Her eyes glowed at Aleck, and suddenly one of his big -hands closed about the one she had laid on his arm. She could feel -his breath as he bent over her. "I told you my time would come," he -cried in a husky, exultant voice. "_My day!_ And it's here. I got 'em -both--safe--one to hang, the other----" - -"_Sh-h-h!_" - -She placed a finger to her lips. It was an excuse to draw away from -him, get her hand free--and not let him hear the terrified beating of -her heart. She looked up again at the cliff. - -"Did you hear anything?" - -"No. And if anyone hears _us_ it's going to be your fault and not mine!" - -It was impossible to escape the look in his face and eyes. It was -not necessary for him to use words. But Mona did not flinch from her -peril. It was not only her danger, but Peter's, and Donald McRae's, -and Simon's if he had harmed Carter. It had suddenly and unexpectedly -become her fight--all hers, and she knew that Aleck Curry thought she -was yielding, and that the brute in him was held in leash only by this -belief that was beginning to possess him. If he guessed the truth, -guessed that she was fighting to trick him, nothing would save her, -not even her assertion that Carter was on the cliff above them. So she -smiled again at Aleck, and laughed very softly, with a nervous twisting -of her hands. Her eyes had never looked at him as they were looking at -him now. They were like glowing stars, velvety-soft--hiding hate and -desperation behind them. She had never looked half so beautiful, or so -unresisting, to Aleck Curry. - -Her fingers pressed his arm again. - -"I must get Carter away," she whispered. "I've got to do it, Aleck! He -mustn't know. I'll hurry. And then I'll come back. I promise!" - -Horror seized her as she felt him drawing her toward him. But still -she did not resist. With a low cry his great arms were about her. She -felt herself almost broken against him, and then she was helpless, -her head bent back, and his thick lips killing her with kisses. Again -her strength left her, and she lay limp in his arms, smothered in his -passion. Those moments of helpless and agonized passiveness saved -her. To Aleck it was surrender. His arms loosened and allowed her to -breathe. Weakly she pressed against him, and he allowed her partly to -free herself. But she could still feel his hot breath like a poisonous -fume in her face. He bent forward and kissed her again--on the mouth. -It almost choked her. - -"I must--must get Carter away!" she gasped. "Then I'll come back. If -you won't let me do that, I'll--I'll scream--and Carter will hear us. -But if you'll let me get him away, so he'll never know--never be able -to tell Peter----" - -It was unnecessary for her to finish. Aleck's face was transformed by -an iniquitous joy. He looked close into her face, and she looked back -at him, unafraid. - -"I'll let you go--and get Carter away," he said. "If you don't come -back soon, I'll go to Five Fingers--and you know what that means for -Peter and his father." - -"I'll come," she lied. - -She climbed up the narrow footpath to the top of the cliff, and getting -her breath there, she called Carter's name--loudly enough for Aleck to -hear. - -Then she began to run. She was still weak, and it seemed to her that -the poison of Aleck Curry's embraces and kisses followed her. She began -to sob under her breath. There was no turning of the ways for her now. -She must tell someone the truth--anyone--the first man she met. But -Simon first of all. On the little island Peter might be dying. Maybe -Aleck had killed him, for it was in his power to do so and still be -within the law. She began to moan his name. Then she came to the crest -of a high knoll which was bare of trees, and what she saw ahead of her -stopped her, gulping for breath and almost falling in her exhaustion. - -A wind was in her face. And northward there was no longer a black pall -of smoke but a world afire. The glow of the conflagration reached from -the earth to the sky. It swept in a great arc, and red seas of flame -were leaping from peak to peak of the farther ridges. Pierre Gourdon's -fear had become a reality. The fire was racing with the speed of the -wind itself upon Five Fingers! - -She ran on. Her hair caught in the brush, and she clutched it in front -of her. She came at last to the edge of the clearing and staggered -across it. There were lights in the cabins, in her own home, in Adette -Clamart's, in Dominique Beauvais's and half a dozen others. But Simon's -was dark. Yet she swayed toward that, hopeful to the last--and almost -at the door she came upon Simon. He was rigid and still, like a shadow. -She could see his gray, hard face. Then he heard her panting, heard -her trying to gasp out her terrible news, and his arms reached out and -gathered her to him--and she told him what had happened to Peter. - -Ten minutes later Simon was leaving in a sailboat. - -"It's so dark Curry won't see me when I pass through the mouth of the -inlet," he said. "And I'll reach Peter in half an hour." - -Mona went back to McQuarrie's cabin, climbed to Peter's room and -lighted a lamp. In a cedar box she found Peter's thirty-eight-caliber -automatic and loaded it with skilful fingers. Then she extinguished -the light, descended the ladder and left the cabin in the direction of -her tryst with Aleck Curry. There was only one thing for her to do, -and her mind was quite fixed. It was her right to be at the end of the -point waiting for Simon and Peter. And if Aleck threatened her--or put -his hands on her again--she would kill him. That was the one way out. -It would save Peter, and Peter's father, and herself. - -It was not a monstrous thing but a just and righteous act--this wiping -out of existence of a creature who threatened to destroy everything -that made her world a fit place to live in. - -She had nearly passed the Clamart cabin when a white figure ran out of -the gloom, and she had only time to hide the pistol in her dress when -Adette Clamart was holding her excitedly by the arm. Adette's lovely -face was white, and she was half out of breath from running. - -"It is terrible!" she cried. "Jame says the fire will be at your -beaver pond within an hour, and he has just started in that direction -with Jeremie Poulin and Carter--to keep it from coming over the last -ridge----" - -"Carter!" gasped Mona. - -"Yes. Jame told him about the cabin Peter built, and Carter said -it was a shame not to save it, and the beavers. Jame says it is -impossible--that a hundred men couldn't keep the fire back--but Carter -insisted, and they've gone!" - -Mona tried to force words from her lips, and thanked God that Adette -hurried on, crying back to her that she was making an effort to -overtake Jame before he got out of the clearing, to give him a lunch -which he had forgotten. Carter had returned--and was on his way to the -cabin in which Peter's father was hidden! And that cabin, Jame said, -would be in the heart of the fire within an hour! With Peter dead or -wounded on the island, and Simon gone, what hope was there now for -Donald McRae? If the fire did not reach his cabin first, Carter would -get him, and if the fire beat out Carter---- - -Mona's dry lips gave a little cry. Through the pitch-filled evergreen -forest about the beaver pond the fire would sweep in a destroying -inundation which no living creature could outrace if the wind was -behind it; and Donald McRae, sick and helpless, would be the first -human victim in its descent upon Five Fingers. - -The peril which was threatening Peter's father from two directions -worked a swift and thrilling change in Mona. She must beat out -Carter--and she must beat out the fire! Thought of Aleck Curry became -secondary to this more immediate necessity. She could settle with Aleck -later. But she must reach the cabin _now_. There was not a minute or -a second to lose if she was to get there ahead of Jame and Carter. -She began to run again, following a path through the meadow into the -strip of forest between the settlement and the shore of the lake. Her -feet and Peter's had worn this trail smooth, and she knew that in -the thickening gloom of smoke and night she was traveling faster than -Carter and Jame Clamart, who were going by the rougher tote-road. In -ten minutes she reached the cliff which ran westward along the lake. - -Here she was high, and there were no trees to shut out her view of the -ridge country. What she saw appalled her. Nowhere in the north was -there any longer a wall of blackness. The world was red, with lurid -flashings that came and went like mighty explosions. Westward, beyond -the beaver pond, she could see the leaping of the flames in the thick -spruce and cedar timberlands where ten thousand barrels of pitch and -resinous oils were turning sleeping forests into boiling caldrons of -fire. The smell of this oil and pitch was heavy in her nostrils, and -she could hear the moaning, distant roar of the conflagration as one -hears the roar of great furnaces when the fuel doors are opened. But it -was the wind that brought quicker fear to her heart. It was beginning -to blow strongly from the north and west, and carried with it a heat -that was stifling. And with this heat and wind came also a thickening -cloud of ash particles, until at last, afraid of their increasing -sting, she stopped to take off her skirt and fasten it about her hair -and face. - -Halfway to the pond, with still another mile to go, she saw the flames -leaping over the last ridge, and her heart seemed suddenly to give way -in a sobbing cry of agony and despair. She was too late. Between that -ridge and Peter's father was less than a mile of spruce and cedar and -balsam forest, with pitch-sodden jackpines interspersed so thickly that -no power less than God could hold back the speed of the holocaust. With -the wind that was behind them the flames would be at the cabin before -she could cover a quarter of the distance to Peter's father. - -For a few moments she sank down helpless and without strength, sobbing -for breath as she stared at the merciless red death which had beaten -her--and Carter. And in these moments her agony was greater than when -Aleck had told her about Peter, for now she was picturing a man, -creeping out on his hands and knees to face that sea of flame--a man, -sick and helpless, crying out for Peter, for her, and dying by inches -with their names on his lips. - -She staggered to her feet and went on, and in her dazed mind lived a -prayer that Donald McRae might be given strength to drag himself to the -shore of the lake. If that strength had not already come to him, it was -now too late, for as she toiled over a high and craggy point in the -cliff the wind blew hot in her face, and where the beaver pond should -be was a red hell of flames. - -The trail descended as she forced herself on--descended from the -ramparted ledge to the smooth, sandy level of the beach, and suddenly -she was conscious of the crashing of bodies in the thickets and the -frenzied sound of living things. A great moose swept so near her that -she sprang from his path--a monstrous beast with flaming eyes and -snorting nostrils, closely followed by a darker, rounder object that -she knew was a bear, racing for the safety of the water. She came to -the sandy open where the trail swung straight ridgeward toward the -beaver pond, and stopped, knowing she could go no farther unless she -defied the death from which all other living creatures were flying. - -Piteously Mona cried out--to Peter, to Simon, to Donald McRae, and then -to God; and at last she fell down with her face buried in her skirt, -ready to welcome death itself in this hour when not only her world but -all that she loved in it were doomed to destruction. - -It was a sound close to her that uncovered her face, a sound that came -strangely above the moaning roar of heat-wind and flame, and staring -through the gloom and against the red glare of the burning forests, -she saw a grotesque shadow--something that was not moose nor deer nor -any four-footed thing she had ever seen in the wilderness; and rising -up before it she saw that it was a man bent under a huge, limp burden -which he carried. She cried out, and a choking voice answered her--a -strange, terrible, unhuman sort of voice, yet the sound of it nearly -split her heart, and when the figure deposited its burden in the white -sand and stood up she saw that it was Peter. She stumbled toward him. -His arms caught her, and she could hear him sobbing under the strain of -his fight, and his heart was beating so hard that each throb of it sent -a tremor through his body. In his weakness her own strength returned, -and in a moment her hands had left his face and she was at the side of -the man who lay upon the sand. - -It was Donald McRae. Now a great light was flaming in the sky over -their heads, and she saw that his face and hands were black, and his -eyes were closed, though he was breathing. She tore the skirt from -about her head and ran to soak it in water, but when she returned Peter -was kneeling beside his father, and held back the dripping cloth. - -"Not water," he said. "We must get--something else. He is burned." - -She put her arms about Peter, and his face rested for a moment on her -shoulder. In that moment he told her that Aleck had tricked him, and -had left him on the island. With the aid of a piece of dry driftwood -he had managed to swim ashore, but too late to reach the cabin ahead -of the flames. He found his father halfway to the lake, fighting his -way on hands and knees in the van of the fire. His face and hands were -badly burned, but that was all. Another minute and he would have been -too late. His voice choked, and Mona's hand stroked his face gently, -and she kissed his hot forehead. - -Then they carried Donald McRae under the shelter of the cliff, where -they were free from smoke and heat, with the water rippling in and out -among the stones at their feet. And here Mona told Peter of Aleck's -coming to the point, though she kept to herself what happened there, -and that Simon McQuarrie had gone to the island in a sailboat and would -surely come straight to this beach when he found Peter gone. And as -they made Donald easier, and waited in the coolness of the cliff for -the fire-storm to burn itself out, she told him also of Carter and that -no time must be lost in getting away to a place of greater safety. - -Peter knew what that meant as he bent over his father. In scarcely -more than a whisper he told Mona. He, too, must go. It would not be -for long--maybe a week, a month, or a little longer. It was not for -himself. He was not afraid of either Aleck or the law, because he had -done at the pool just what he would do again if it were before the eyes -of the whole world. But his father needed him, and never would his -heart beat the same, nor would she ever again look at him with a bit of -the pride and love which made him so strong, if he failed to do what -was right in this hour. Without him his father was lost. He hoped Simon -would come with the boat, for in that boat they would escape into the -wilderness farther west. - -Mona made no answer to these things, for it was hard enough for her to -breathe with the thickness that was in her throat. But her hand stroked -Peter's, and her cheek lay against his, and above the grief in her -breast rose a great pride in this man who loved her. And a thought -came to her of Sir Nigel, the chivalrous young knight who looked so -much like this Peter of hers with his sensitive boyish face, and of -how Mary so bravely sent him away to the great wars in which through -long years he rose to undying fame; and she subdued her heart, as Sir -Nigel's sweetheart must have conquered her own, and at last told Peter -it was the thing to do--the one thing to do--and that God and she would -love him for it. And even as she did this there was creeping over her -an unutterable foreboding, and death seemed to pierce her heart when -she heard Simon McQuarrie's boat grounding on the sand. But she smiled, -and kissed Peter--and then Simon stood before them. And in another five -minutes he was gone again--this time to the settlement for the supplies -and medicines which would go with Peter and his father. - - * * * * * - -For an hour they were alone, and Donald McRae tried to keep back the -moans of pain that came to his lips. But he could not open his eyes, -and Mona fanned him gently with a piece of her wet skirt, and told him -Simon was hurrying with ointments which would make him comfortable. -Peter even laughed and spoke of the sudden on-sweep of the fire as if -it were an exciting adventure, and it was good that Donald could not -see their tense and grief-filled faces in the gloom. - -The fire roared through the last of the evergreens and burned itself -out against the bare stone knolls and ledges of the lake shore. And -then came again the sound of Simon's boat on the sand. - -"Carter has returned to the settlement and was preparing to come this -way in a boat when I slipped out through the inlet," Simon whispered to -Mona. - -With Peter she went to the boat, leaving Simon alone for a few moments -with his old friend. And it was Simon who came at the end of a brief -interval bearing the burden of Peter's father in his arms. Very -tenderly he laid him on the blankets in the boat. - -"God be with you, Donald," he whispered, a broken note in his voice. -"God be with you--always." - -The stricken man raised a burned hand to the other's face. - -"They have always been with me, Simon," he whispered back. "God--and -Helen. And now that you have made such a fine man of Peter I hope I may -go to them--soon." - -In the darkness Mona crept out of Peter's arms. - -"Peter, you must wait no longer. You must go." - -"In a little while I will come back, _Ange_." - -"And I--by the sweet spirit of Ste. Anne--I promise to be waiting for -you when you come, Peter--though I wait until new forests grow where -yours and mine have burned. So go--good-by--lover--sweetheart----" - -And then she had slipped away from him and he made no effort to follow -her into the smoky gloom, though a sobbing cry came back to him -faintly. - -For a moment Simon stood aside with Peter. Their hands gripped in the -darkness and a strain was in the old Scotchman's low voice as he said: - -"I've put ointment on your father's face and hands and he is easier. -I don't think he is badly burned. Everything is in the boat, -lad--provisions, blankets, medicines, a pack and what money I had at -hand." He hesitated and the grip of his fingers tightened as he added: -"In the bow is your rifle with extra ammunition in the buckskin sack -beside it. You'll need it. But don't fight the law unless they force -you to it, boy. Remember that. The law finds no excuse, even though -scoundrels like Aleck Curry and blood-sucking ferrets like Carter are -sometimes a part of it. And let me tell you that I saw with my own -eyes when your father killed a man years ago when you were a baby in -your mother's arms. It was for your mother he did it and he was right; -but in spite of that the law won't rest until it lands him. And it's -your job now to beat the law, but without the use of a gun. I love -you, lad--but I'd curse you for a coward if you didn't do what you're -doing now. For years you and Mona have prayed that God would send your -father back to you--and now he has come--and it's God's will behind -it. All that is left in a body that was once stronger than my own is -his worship for you and his memories of your mother. Take care of him, -Peter. And--God bless you both!" - -Never had the iron-natured old Scotchman said so much in all the years -since Peter had come to live with him as a son. And without a word -Peter went to the boat, for his throat was thick and choking, and -Simon shoved the craft out into the sea until he was waist-deep in the -water. Simply he said good-by as if Peter were going only to the nets -or the islands outside the mainland, and no tremor in his hard, calm -voice betrayed the tears on his cheeks which darkness hid. And as Peter -raised the sail McQuarrie waded ashore and was met by a pair of arms -and a sobbing voice that cried out in its grief and despair against his -shoulder. - -Another sound came before they turned to the cliff trail that led along -the unburned shore of the lake to Five Fingers. From the direction of -the settlement a light skiff bore down swiftly upon the strip of sandy -beach. - -Carter, who sat in the stern, was old in the service of the provincial -police, a ferret on the trail, a fox in his cleverness, cold-blooded, -unexcitable and merciless--and when the bow of the skiff ran into the -sand and Aleck Curry leaped ashore he remained quietly in his seat -and waited. In a moment he heard voices--the cold, unemotional voice -of the Scotchman first and then Aleck Curry's in fierce demand and -Mona Guyon's in answer. He went ashore, his thin, hard face smiling -in the darkness, and heard Simon tell Aleck that the law no longer -had a work to do at Five Fingers, for Peter and his father had died -somewhere out in the heart of the fire. He heard Mona's sob, close to -Simon's shoulder. Then he opened his flashlight, but not upon them. It -illumined Aleck's face, thick-lipped and bestial in its disappointment -and passion. What he saw was amusing to a man like Carter and a spark -of chivalry made him leave the others in darkness. But he stepped back -and cast his light upon the wet sand of the shore. And then he said -quite casually, as if his discovery was a matter of small significance: - -"You lie, McQuarrie! We have come only a quarter of an hour too late. -Peter McRae and his father have gone in your boat, and as this breath -of wind will scarcely fill a sail, I think Aleck's enthusiasm and a -light skiff should make it possible for us to overtake them within an -hour!" - -He chuckled as he switched off his flashlight, and that chuckle was -like the rattle of a snake to Mona, deadlier than all the hate and -animal passion she had seen in Aleck Curry's face in the one swift -moment when it had flashed out of the darkness into light. For Carter -was more than a representative of the law. He was its incarnation, and -more than Aleck Curry--more than any other man in the world--she feared -him now as the skiff sped in the direction taken by Peter and his -father. - - - - -CHAPTER XX - - -For a few minutes after leaving the shore Peter did not trust himself -to speak. He could see nothing but a gray chaos except landward, where -the red sky and the darker blot of the cliff were visible through -the smoke gloom. Even the weather-stained canvas of Simon's boat was -indistinguishable, and where his father lay on a pile of blankets at -his feet he could make out only a shadow. Now that the fire had burned -itself out of the forests between the shore and the ridges the heated -winds gave way quickly to a growing calm. The smoke hung like a dense -fog and with this change came a strange stillness in which sound seemed -to multiply itself until he heard clearly the wailing of a dog at Five -Fingers. - -Then the faint rattle of oarlocks came to him and his hand tightened -on the tiller. It was Aleck Curry again--Aleck and the man-hunter, -Carter, hurrying to cut them off before they could leave the shore! -And suddenly in fierce passion he wanted to shout back his defiance to -them just as years ago--three days before he came to Five Fingers--he -had felt the desire to kill the men who had driven his father into the -forest. Something in these moments brought that day back to him--a -vivid memory of the big log behind which they were sheltered, and armed -men in the thickets, the blue jay screeching at them, his thirst and -hunger and his father's pale, strong face waiting with courage for -darkness to come; then the dusk, their escape on a log in the flooded -river and their first fugitive camp in the big woods. How wonderful -his father had been in those hours of peril which he as a boy could -scarcely understand! And now he was lying at his feet, a pitiable wreck -because of that same merciless and unfair law which had pursued him -then---- - -Peter cried out. It was not much more than a throat sound, as if the -smoke had made him gasp for breath. But a hand rose out of the darkness -and touched him. - -"Peter!" - -"Yes, dad." - -"It has all gone wrong, boy. If only I hadn't been so heartsick to see -you--if I had never come back----" - -Peter bent over and his hand rested tenderly against the face which -Simon had cooled with ointment. - -"If you hadn't come I'd have lost all faith in the God you used to -tell me about," he whispered. "I wanted to give up but Mona wouldn't -let me. She said you would surely come. And this isn't half as bad as -that day behind the log when I was a little kid. Remember how you cared -for me then--kept me above water when we went into the river, caught -rabbits for me to eat afterward and tucked me into bed every night -near the camp-fire? Well, it's _my_ turn now. And I'm almost glad -you're sick--just so I can show you how much I've grown up since that -afternoon you sent me on alone to Five Fingers so many years ago. You -lied to me then, dad. You made me believe you'd come back that night, -or the next day. Haven't you ever been ashamed of that?" - -The strain was gone from his voice. It was his _dad_ he was speaking -to again, his pal and comrade of the old days, and the thrill of that -comradeship was stirring warmly in his blood. - -"I knew Simon would give you a good home," said Donald. "And he has -made a splendid man of you. But I'm sorry, Peter--sorry I came back. -After all those years I was hungry to see you. I just wanted to look -on your face and then go away again without letting you know. I didn't -mean to break into your life like this----" - -His hand was stroking Peter's and for a moment Peter bent down until -his face was close to his father's. Donald was silent but his hand -continued its caressing touch. After a little he said: - -"Did I hear something, Peter?" - -"I think it was thunder. A storm must be following in the trail of the -fire." - -"I mean out there--near at hand. It was like wood striking on wood." - -He sank back and Peter reached down and made his head comfortable. -"This makes me think of that last night in the woods when you tucked me -in my cedar-bough bed and told me to sleep," he whispered gently. "And -I'm telling you that now, dad. It's what you need. Try and sleep!" - -Even as he spoke he heard the distant sound again and knew it was the -clank of oarlocks. He fastened the tiller so that Simon's boat was -heading for the open sea. Then he crept forward and returned with a -blanket, and this blanket he quietly unfolded in the darkness, taking -from it the weapon which Simon had loaded and placed there for his use. -And Simon's words were running over and over in his head, as steady as -the ticking of a clock. "Take care of him, Peter. It's your job now to -beat the law." - - * * * * * - -As the minutes passed it seemed to Peter that sound became a living, -stealthy part of the night, creeping about him in ghostly whispers, -hiding behind the canvas sail, rustling where the water moved under the -bow, purring at his feet and in the air. This impression of sound by -its smallness and its secretiveness served to emphasize the hush which -had fallen upon a burned and blasted world. Its muteness bore with it -a quality of solemnity and a quickening thrill as if subjugated forces -were muffled and bound and might unleash themselves without warning. In -this stillness Peter heard the thunder creeping up faintly behind the -path of fire. But the sound of the oar did not come again. - -He strained his eyes to pierce the gloom even though he knew the effort -was futile and senseless. The red line of the fire was steadily -receding. In places it was lost. Where he had left the cliff and the -sandy strip of beach was a black chaos, and it was this darkness with -its silence which seemed to reach into his heart and choke him with its -oppression and foreboding. - -Through the stillness a sound came to him, floating softly over the -sea, sweet and distant. His fingers slowly unclasped and he bowed his -head. It was the bell over the little church of logs and Father Albanel -was tolling it. Even now in this smoke-filled hour of the night he was -calling the people of the settlement together that they might offer up -in prayer their gratitude because homes and loved ones had been spared -by the red death that had swept the land. It was like a living voice, -gently sweet and soothing as it brought him faith and reverence. _There -was a God!_ Every fiber in his body leaped to that cry of his heart. -Without a God his father would have died, the whole world would have -burned, there would be no Mona, no hope, no anything for him in the -darkness of the freedom which lay ahead. His lips moved with Mona's -prayer and he stood up quietly so that he might hear more clearly until -the last peal of the bell died away. And when the gray silence shut him -in again he felt as if a protecting spirit had come to ride with him in -the gloom. - -Softly he spoke to his father but there was no answer. Exhaustion and -the peace of the open sea had overcome the stricken man and he was -asleep. - -Encumbered by stillness and smoke, the night passed with appalling -slowness. The distant thunder with its promise of rain died away. Half -a dozen times Peter lighted matches and looked at his watch. At last it -was three o'clock and the horizon of murk and smoke that shut him in -receded as dawn advanced. Then came a sudden keen breeze, like the last -sweeping of a great broom, and he could see the coast. His own heart -was thrilled by the sight of it, for behind the menacing headland of -barren rock that rose like a great gargoyle hundreds of feet above the -lower cliff was a strip of water which he had once hazarded in a dead -calm and which led back half a mile between towering walls of rock and -naked ridges into that very chaos of wildness which he had wanted for a -hiding-place. - -Scarcely had this moment of exultation possessed him when the wind died -again. At the same time a clearer light diffused itself over the sea. -The horizon drew itself back like a curtain and half a mile away he saw -an object that sent his heart into his throat. - -For a few moments he neither moved nor seemed to breathe as he stared -at a swiftly approaching skiff. Then he looked at his father. Donald -McRae had not awakened. A livid scar lay across his eyes as if a -red-hot iron had burned out his sight. His hands were blistered, his -lips were swollen and his neck and shoulders were scarred and covered -with the ointment which Simon had used. Yet--even then--_his father -slept_! The horror of it choked Peter and his soul cried out for -vengeance against those who had made this wreck of a man. He turned and -his hand rested upon his rifle. He no longer feared the law or Aleck -Curry or Carter, the ferret. His desire at first was to kill them. With -astonishing calmness he waited, watching the approaching skiff. When it -was two hundred yards away he picked up his rifle. - -He chose the small of Aleck's back for his first shot and raised his -gun. In the same moment he observed that with Carter in the stern and -Aleck amidships the bow of the skiff was high out of water. It was this -situation which saved Aleck and Peter's first bullet crashed through -the boat an inch or two below the water line. He followed with two -other shots. The effect was almost instantaneous. Aleck Curry lurched -away from the oars and the skiff came within an ace of upsetting. In -another moment the quick-witted Carter had called Aleck into the stern -and there both crouched, their combined weight raising the shattered -bow above the water line while Carter stripped himself of his shirt. - -The shots roused Donald, and with an effort he drew himself up beside -Peter. - -"What is it?" he demanded. He turned his scarred face toward Peter and -then with a strange cry covered his face with his hands. "My God, I -can't see!" he cried. "Peter--I can't see!" - -In that darkest moment of his life Peter thanked God the wind came -and filled the sail of Simon's boat and that neither Carter nor -Aleck Curry shouted after them or made a sound that his father might -hear, and like an inspiration a lie came to his lips--he had done -some poor shooting at a flock of mallards! He spoke cheerfully of his -father's efforts to see, telling him it would be days before he could -hope for vision when his eyes were swollen and scarred by burns. And -Donald, seeing nothing of the agony in Peter's bloodless face, smiled -cheerfully up at the clearing sky in spite of his pain. He did not -mind so much about his hands, he said, but it was a hardship to have -his eyes covered as Peter was bandaging them now because he wanted -to see as much as he could of his boy in the short time they would -be together. There was a note of happiness in his voice which was in -strange contrast to the pathos of his appearance and his helplessness. - -And Peter fought to keep up that spirit of cheer and of gladness that -was in Donald McRae's heart. But his own heart was breaking--for he -knew that his father was blind. - -Hours later Simon's boat came stealing back to shore in the sunless -dusk of the evening. This time the sail was down and with muffled -oars Peter rowed cautiously for the break in the cliff. Blended with -the deepening shadows of the sea, he worked his boat into the narrow -maw of the crevasse whose rock walls rose two hundred feet over their -heads. In utter darkness, with the thin streak of light far above, -he felt his way for half an hour. Then the fissure widened and after -another fifteen minutes of slow progress its walls bulged outward, -losing themselves in the gloom, and ahead stretched the hidden inlet, -smothered on all sides by precipitous crags and cliffs and towering -forest ridges. - -On a narrow strip of sand he grounded the boat and lighted the lantern -which Simon had placed in the outfit. Its illumination threw up grimly -the black shadows about them, and questing among these, he found huge -masses of torn and twisted rocks so wildly thrown together that among -them were many little caverns and grottoes thickly carpeted with white -sand. One of these he chose for a camp, but not until he had gathered -an armful of bleached driftwood and had started a fire did he return to -the boat. It was then, in the yellow light of flaming cedar and pine, -that he noted a strange and startling change had come over his father. -Donald McRae no longer bore the appearance of a sick man. He stood -straight and was breathing deeply. His lips were smiling as he faced -Peter and quite calmly he removed the bandage from his eyes. - -"At last we are home," he spoke softly. "And just beyond you--_I see -your mother_!" Instantly he seemed to sense the shock of those words to -Peter, for he said: "Don't let that frighten you, lad. Every day and -night she is at my side. Only--now--_she is nearer_!" - -He reached out his hands and almost fiercely Peter's arms closed about -him. - -Donald stroked his hair. It was the old caress, and he spoke to Peter -as if to a little boy again. - -"You're not afraid, Peter?" he asked. - -"Afraid----" - -Peter's heart stopped beating. - -"They can't hurt you," said Donald soothingly. "I won't let them do -that, Peter." - -Peter drew slowly away. His face was gray in the firelight and in his -eyes was a growing horror. He tried to speak but no words came from his -lips. Donald's scarred face was strangely tranquil. It seemed to Peter -that years had dropped away from it. In it was no fear, no sign of -strain, no consciousness of the terrible hours they had passed through -or of the tragic future which lay ahead. And the truth came to Peter, -a suspicion at first, a whisper, growing and overwhelming him until at -last it was a dizzying sickness that set him swaying on his feet. In -this hour Donald McRae was not the man who had returned after years -of wandering to see his boy. His mind had gone back. It had returned -to the days of Peter's childhood and his voice was repeating words -almost forgotten--a sacred promise of days when Peter had built mighty -castles in the air and his father had helped him plan them with the -understanding smile that was on his lips now. - -For he was saying: "They won't hurt a boy, Peter. We'll get away. And -then we'll go through the big woods to the mountains just as we've -always wanted to do." - -Peter raised clenched hands to his face to stifle his agony. - -In the torturing slowness of the hours which followed Donald McRae -lived again in the precious years when Peter was a boy, recalling -forgotten incidents as if they had happened yesterday, bringing forth -their old dreams, painting their pictures of the future as he had done -so often with Peter at his side in the afterglow of evenings long ago. -And Peter, with his soul torn and bleeding, talked with him. Together -they were hunting again. They followed the old trap-lines. They heard -the song of birds and planted seeds and flowers in the little garden -back of their cabin home, and Peter was kneeling at his father's knees -when he said his prayers at night. These things Peter had dreamed -of and treasured in his years at Five Fingers, but now they were -horrors--coming out of the past with a voice that trembled with the -thrill and joy of a strange madness. - -At last Donald slept. It was after midnight and the last embers of the -fire had burned out. Peter rose to his feet and walked up the shore, -staring into darkness. The rock walls that inclosed the inlet rose -sheer above him, making of the place a deep and sombrous pit. He could -see the stars and their distance lent an abysmal solitude to the gloom. -About him was no movement and no stir of life; the water lay still; no -whisper came from dark forests on the ridge tops; the black walls were -dead and in the soft sand his feet alone disturbed the sepulchral quiet. - -To Peter this strangeness seemed naturally a part of the change that -had come into his life. Everything was changed. His world had gone into -atoms and now it was reassembling itself; and with deadened emotions, -almost dully, he was beginning to accept it. His yesterdays, it seemed, -had existed an infinitely long time ago. Five Fingers was no longer -home or a necessity and even Mona seemed a vast distance away from -him in these hours when his own soul was remolding itself to fit the -grimness of a new existence. His mind no longer questioned the path he -was to take and no shadow of revolt rose in it. - -One thought was as steadfastly fixed in him now as life itself. He -belonged to his father and his father belonged utterly to him. He must -go on with him, care for him, fight for him, save him from that one -dread brutality of the law if his own life paid the forfeit in the end. -That was settled. Even his love for Mona could not change that duty and -older love which urged him. It was more than a resolution; it was as -immutably a part of him as the beating of his heart and his own flesh -and blood. - -The stars faded and day broke swiftly above the walls of the inlet. He -returned and found his father on his hands and knees groping in the -sand. He was gathering sticks and placing them with the remnants of -last night's fire, and when he heard Peter's footsteps he paused in his -labor and raised a face out of which once more the years of grief and -hopelessness seemed to have gone. - -"Are you hungry, Peter?" he asked. - -And Peter, as he knelt beside him, knew that he was speaking to Peter -the boy and not to Peter the man. - -Together they built the fire. - - - - -CHAPTER XXI - - -Nine days Peter and his father spent in their hiding-place under the -walls of the lagoon. At the end of that time Donald's burns were -healed and his strength had returned. He had taken on flesh and his -shoulders were straighter. His eyes were clear again but their vision -was strangely shadowed and at a hundred yards the wall of the lagoon -was like a dark curtain. For a time it was impossible for Peter to -believe that his father's mind was not keeping pace with his physical -revivement. Yet with the passing of each day Donald's mental grip -concentrated itself more and more on the past until he seemed not to -have lived at all beyond those years when Peter was a boy. Together -they picked up old threads as if they had never been broken or lost, -and in those occasional dark and brooding intervals when Donald's mind -dragged itself back into the haunting tragedy of the present Peter -found himself praying for the return of that partial amnesia which at -first had terrified him. - -On the evening of the ninth day Peter once more set out to sea. Fifty -miles westward he ran ashore in the illusive, gray dusk of morning and -burned Simon's boat. - -Now that their flight northward had actually begun there were moments -when his father's attitude almost frightened him. At first Donald's -mind was keenly alive to the nearness of danger and in his half -blindness he became more watchful and alert than Peter. But it was the -peril of years ago that haunted him--the menace of the men who had -driven them from their cabin home and who had nearly killed them when -Peter was a boy. - -After the third day Peter began to mark the beginning of the final -change in his father. Donald became less watchful and sounds no longer -seemed to disturb him. Instincts which warned him of peril became -ghosts and at last faded away entirely. By the end of the seventh day -there remained only one consciousness of living in Donald's soul; Peter -was his little boy, and he was with Peter. Physically he betrayed no -sign that his mind had crumbled. His scarred eyes, in which vision -had grown even dimmer, held in them a deep and abiding clearness and -a strange gentleness grew in his face. And Peter, holding tight to -keep his own heart from breaking, knew what it meant. His father was -forgetful of all things now but his boy, and was happy. - -This change more than anything else killed in Peter's breast his last -hope of returning to Five Fingers. Sheer madness with its darkness and -its misery might have driven him back to Simon and Father Albanel, -taking Donald McRae to asylum doors instead of to the hangman. But -this which he saw growing in his father was to him a quietly working -miracle of God instead of breaking down of body and soul and brain. - -As day followed day and one cool, dark night added itself to another, -a warm and thrilling reaction came to replace with new emotions the -gloom and desolation in his heart. Not for an hour did he stop thinking -of Mona; her face was with him, her voice, the touch of her lips and -hands; she walked with him in the thick aisles of the forest, slept -near his side at night, wakened with him in the morning and became in -each increasing hour of their separation more completely a part of -him. But with this thought of her returned also the old passion of his -childhood--his love for his father. His heart stirred strangely to the -gentle caress of Donald's hand as it had thrilled when he was a boy. -The old chumship rose out of its ashes, smoldered for a while and then -burned steadily as if the broken years had never been. Home, mother, -father, all the joys and dreams of childhood and early boyhood crept -upon him a little at a time, until at last he knew that to sacrifice -his father was as unthinkable as to surrender that part of his heart -which Mona filled. - -Between these two loves, encouraged on one side by duty and on the -other by desire, lay his grief. Until the end of the third week he did -not give up fully his resolution to send word back to Mona. By that -time the hazard of such an act had fully impressed itself upon him. He -no longer feared Aleck Curry, whose stupidity he had fully measured, -but almost as frequently as Mona filled his mind came also dread of -Carter. A cold and abiding fear of this man entered into him and he was -confident it would not be long before this human ferret of the forests -would in some way find their trail. At times he was oppressed by the -feeling that Carter was close behind them and he tried to establish -in his mind the certainty of his action if his father's enemy should -suddenly appear. Thought of what might happen--what probably would -happen--made him shudder. For there could be no halfway measures with -Carter now. - -Always on the alert, with his rifle never far from reach of his hands, -he swung still farther north and west. Autumn found him in the Dubaunt -River country, and the beginning of winter on the Thelon. Here he -traded his watch in a Dogrib camp for a score of traps, blankets and -new moccasins, invested the last of his money in flour, sugar, salt -and tea, and took possession of an abandoned cabin in the neighborhood -of Hinde Lake. All through the winter he trapped and set deadfalls and -snares. - -A hundred times during the long winter he fought against his desire to -send a word to Mona. Months had not dulled his caution and as soon as -the spring break-up made it possible to travel he led his father into -the Artillery Lake country. Through the spring and early summer they -were constantly on the move, always making a little southward. By the -time August came they had completed two-thirds of an immense circle -and south of the Athabasca country found themselves in the unmapped -region between the Cree River and the McFarland. Here, in a country of -ridges and swamps and deep forests, Peter made up his mind that at last -they were safely hidden from Carter and all the rest of the world. - -He breathed easier and began the building of a cabin. This was on a -dark-watered, silent little stream, with a vast swamp at their back -door, ridge country to right and left of them and an illimitable forest -reaching out in front. The nearest point of habitation that Peter knew -of was a Hudson's Bay Company post sixty miles away. - -And this cabin with each log that went into it became a closer and more -inseparable part of Donald McRae. Out of that forgetfulness which could -scarcely be called madness began to creep memories so warm and vivid -that they seemed to breathe with life itself. For Donald was building -the old home again, the home of Peter's mother, where the moon had -looked in through the window on the night he was born--a home, sweet -and whispering with the presence of a woman one had worshiped in the -flesh and the other had visioned as an angel in his dreams. After a -little it was Donald and not Peter who was building the cabin, and by -the time it was finished it seemed to Peter that a strange and unseen -spirit of life, gentle as prayer itself, had come to dwell in it with -them. - -Autumn came again with its paradise of color. The cedars, spruces and -balsams took on a deeper, richer green; each sunrise bathed the ridges -of poplar and birch in new splendor of red and yellow and gold; the -nights grew colder, the days were filled more and more with the autumn -tang that made blood run red and warm. God was with them here. Donald -said that, as in the days of old. And Peter began to believe--and -as faith rose in him hope and dreams returned. _Mona's prayer was -answered_--the prayer they had said together for years asking that his -father might be returned to him, and that they might all find refuge -together somewhere in the wilderness world which they loved. And this -was the refuge, given to them through the sweet and charitable guidance -of God. All that was needed to complete it was Mona. - -He began to thrill with a greater excitement as the first snows came. -Would it be safe to return for Mona _now_? There were times when his -whole soul cried out in the affirmative and he was almost ready to -begin the long journey. But his caution never quite died and he always -pulled himself back in time. Sixteen months had seemed an eternity to -him but prudence warned him not to hurry. He would wait until spring. -By that time, if Carter were on their trail, the climax would surely -come. If the winter passed safely, he would go to Five Fingers and -bring Mona back with him. Not for a moment did he doubt she would -come, and he continued to add to the glorious castles he built in his -mind, shadowed only now and then by oppressing thoughts of the many -things which might have happened at Five Fingers in almost two years of -absence. - -Late in February he left for the trading-post with two Indian dogs and -a light toboggan to sell his furs. It was not unusual now for Donald -to remain alone for several days at a time, for Peter knew the home -they had built had become a part of his heart and soul and that nothing -short of actual force or his own wishes and plans could drag his father -from it. On this trip to the post he expected to be gone five days. - -It was very cold. Trees cracked and snapped with the piercing bite of -the frost and the snow crackled underfoot. For a long time after Peter -had disappeared Donald stood in the little clearing staring over the -trail where his boy had gone. - -Something unknown to Peter was finding its way into Donald's brain. -Through the night it had worked, gnawing its way slowly and stealthily, -and now that Peter was gone it grew bolder. Even as he turned the cabin -took on a new aspect for Donald. Though the sun was shining and the sky -was clear, a shadow seemed to have fallen over it and the welcoming -spirit which had always clasped him closely to its heart was missing -when he entered through the door. As the day passed a change came in -Donald's face. He was restless and uneasy. Sounds startled him again. -In the dusk of evening he did not light a candle but sat quietly in a -corner, staring into darkness with his half-blind eyes, and all that -night he did not go to bed. - -The next day there was no sun; the sky was heavy with gloom, the air -thick and difficult for Donald to breathe. Mysterious shadows crept -about him and at times he tried futilely to seize these with his hands. -As the hours passed his mind became more and more like a broken limb -from which the last prop had been taken. A hundred times he whispered -Peter's name. Then came the beginning of the storm. It broke in -mid-afternoon and by night was a howling blizzard. In darkness the -cabin shook and the wind screamed overhead and the snow beat like shot -against the window. It would be a long time before the forest people -would forget this storm because of its ferocity and the tragedy which -it left in its wake, but to Donald it was more than a storm--it was a -personal thing. In it was the cumulative chaos of all the evils from -which he had been a fugitive through the years, and now, cornering him -at last, they were fighting to break through the log walls of the cabin. - -He built up the fire until it roared in the chimney and lighted candles -until the cabin was aflame with light. And then, suddenly as a bolt -of lightning, some thing came to him. It was _voice_--voice screaming -at the window, voice howling over the roof logs, voice moaning and -wailing and dying away in the sweeping of the wind. "_Peter!_ _Peter!_ -_Peter!_" It was crying--nothing but Peter's name, repeating it a -thousand times in its laughing, taunting, moaning efforts to make him -understand. - -A half-savage cry rose out of his breast. He was not afraid, not when -his boy needed him--and hatless and coatless he flung up the birchwood -bar to the door and faced the storm. - -"_Peter!_" he called. "_Peter!_ _Peter!_" - -It all had but one meaning for Donald now. The storm had Peter. It -was playing with him, killing him, and these devils in the wind had -come to tell him about it in their glee. He could feel them clawing -and striking at his breast and face; the snow struck his eyes like -tiny spear points and he found it difficult to get his breath in the -face of the blast which tried to overwhelm him. He called again as he -fought his way out into the blackness and snow. His words drifted away -in shreds, whipped to pieces by the wind. Creatures seemed picking up -handfuls of snow and hurling it in his face--he could hear their swift -movement, the hissing of their breath, their evasion as he struck out -at them, and he called Peter's name louder than before to give his boy -courage and let him know he was coming. - -That Peter was near the cabin, that he had turned back and was making a -desperate fight to reach its shelter was as firmly a part of Donald's -mind as the conviction that all the forces of the darkness and evil -were trying to keep him away from his boy. - -His head was bare and his woolen shirt was unbuttoned at the throat, -but he did not sense the terrible cold that came with the blizzard. -Among the trees his feet found instinctively the beginning of the -trail that was blazed through the forest and he reached out his naked -hands and plunged knee-deep through windrows of snow that lay in his -way. The thickets whipped and beat at him and branches, ambushed in -darkness, reached out from twisting trees to strike him, but he did not -feel sting or pain. - -At last he was sure he heard an answer to his calling but the wind came -and roared in his ears and the snow beat so fiercely in his face that -he could not locate the quarter from which it came. Then he tricked the -wind. He stumbled in the snow behind a tree and lay there until a brief -lull followed in the wake of it, when he called again as loudly as he -could. But he had the direction of it now and a hundred paces brought -him to the edge of a rocky ravine which ran near the trail. Down this -he clambered and in the pit-like darkness at the bottom found what he -was seeking. Beside a figure rumpled and twisted in the snow he fell -upon his knees, moaning Peter's name. - -Half an hour later Donald came back to the light in the clearing, -staggering under the weight of his burden. He opened the door and -together the two crashed in upon the floor. On his hands and knees -Donald turned and shut the door against the storm. Then he crept to -the younger man whose wide-open eyes were staring at him from a thin, -white, strangely contorted face, and put his arms about him, holding -his head closely against his breast. - -"You're all right now, Peter," he comforted in a broken, gasping voice. -"You're all right----" He tried to laugh as his frozen fingers wiped -the snow from the other's hair. "We're home and it's warm and I'll get -something to eat----" - -He crawled to the stove, almost crooning in his joy, and opened the -iron door to thrust in more wood. The flames lighted up his face, -bloodless from the cold and wet with snow that had already begun to -melt and trickle down his cheeks to his bare neck and chest. His hair -glistened white--whiter, it seemed, than an hour ago; his breath came -huskily as if driven through a sieve; he was a crumpled, frozen, -wind-broken wreck, and yet as he turned from the flaming door of the -stove to look at the man on the floor there was a strange miracle of -triumph and happiness riding over the torture in his face and a smile -was on his lips. The storm might beat and howl outside and all the -evils of darkness might scream and rage to get in for all he cared now. -He had saved his boy! - -He rose to his feet and stood swaying for a moment, smiling, trying to -speak. Then he fell upon a cot. - -The man on the floor had pulled himself to his elbow. He put a mittened -hand to his throat as if to free himself from fingers that were -gripping him there. His face too was bloodless. It was a thin face, -driven white and hard by exhaustion and pain. He was a man who had been -close to death and the shadow of it was still in his eyes. - -He drew off his mittens and a foot at a time dragged himself across the -floor. When he reached the cot he pulled himself up to it and put his -arms over the stricken form of the one who had saved him. - -Donald felt the nearness and raised a hand weakly to the other's face. - -"You--Peter?" he asked. - -"Yes, it's me." - -Donald's blue lips smiled. - -"They didn't get us, did they, boy? We got away from them----" - -"Yes, we got away." - -"And you're warm now--good and warm?" - -The head over him bowed itself slowly until almost reverently it -touched Donald's breast. It was not Peter's head. It was not Peter's -voice that answered. But Donald gave a deep sigh of contentment as -his fingers found a hand which he thought was Peter's and for a time -neither one nor the other spoke again, while near them the fire -crackled merrily in the stove and the candles sputtered and flared -as if laughing at the storm which was lashing itself into a wailing -madness outside the cabin walls. - - * * * * * - -For three days and nights no living creature could stand against the -storm which swept the Athabasca country, nor could they travel in the -intense cold which followed in its wake. - -It was the fifth of March, twelve days after he had left the cabin, -before Peter crossed the Pipestone on his return into the region where -he and his father had made their home. - -His mind was a torment of unrest as he visioned a hundred tragic -happenings, any one of which might have visited his father during his -absence. The last twenty-four hours he traveled without an hour of -sleep. - -It was midday when he came to a high ridge from which he could look -down into a cup of the forest where the cabin stood, a mile away. For -the first time he breathed easily when he saw a spiral of blue smoke -rising straight up into the clear sunshine of the day. - -He laughed in his gladness as he came to the trail which led past the -spring near their home. He would stop and drink there and then give the -old-time halloo for his father. He could see Donald hurrying through -the sunshine to welcome him as he heard that cry. - -As he came round the last turn in the trail he stopped suddenly. -Someone was at the spring. The bent figure was less than a hundred -yards from him and he could see it rising slowly, lifting a pail filled -with water. He shifted his rifle and made a megaphone of his mittened -hands at his mouth. It would be a rousing surprise for his dad! - -But the cry died before it reached his lips. The man at the spring was -not his father. Tall and thin and hooded, and walking with a stick as -he advanced, the stranger came toward Peter. He progressed slowly and -with difficulty, limping with each step he took. His head was bowed and -not until they had approached within a few paces of each other did he -raise it so that his face was clearly revealed. And then Peter gave a -startled cry and swift as a flash swung the muzzle of his rifle upon -the other. - -"_Carter!_" he gasped. - -A wan smile played over the ferret's face as he raised a hand and -thrust back his hood. - -"My name is not Carter," he replied. "Since twelve days ago I have been -Peter McRae--Donald McRae's son." - -Something in his thin face and strangely sunken eyes sent a cold chill -to Peter's heart. - -Carter had stopped with the muzzle of the rifle touching the pit of his -stomach. He made no effort to thrust it aside but stood looking calmly -into the other's eyes. - -"It happened just that long ago," he said. "I was trailing you when I -slipped over a ledge and almost broke a leg among the rocks. The storm -came and I was about done for, when your father wandered out into the -night, calling your name, and I answered. He got me into the cabin and -I've been there ever since. From the beginning he thought I was you. I -understand now, McRae. I know what I've done--and I wish you would pull -that trigger. I deserve it." - -Peter lowered the gun. - -"You have not harmed him?" - -"_Harmed him!_" A dull look of agony filled Carter's eyes as he turned -slowly toward the cabin. "No, I haven't harmed him--not since twelve -days ago. It was all done before that. Only God will ever know how -gentle and good he was to me, thinking I was you--and if by dying I -could return what I've taken away from him I'd kill myself. And if I -were in your place, Peter--standing where you are--_I'd shoot_!" - -He gave a stifled cry as Peter hurried past him. In it was a note of -appeal that choked and died in his throat. But Peter did not hear it -nor did he see fully the look of dread that was in Carter's eyes. He -unshouldered his pack at the cabin door, laid his rifle beside it and -went in. He was no longer afraid of Carter. Something tighter and more -terrible was gripping at his heart. - -Carter came limping up the trail and when he reached the door he bared -his head and quietly followed Peter into the cabin. - -Peter was on his knees beside the bunk in which Donald was lying. His -arms were spread out and his head was bowed upon Donald's breast. - -White-faced, Carter knelt beside him and put both his hands about his -shoulders. "Until _he_ brought me into this cabin twelve days ago I -never believed in God," he said huskily. "But I do now, Peter. For -twelve days _your father was my father_. I loved him. And I know, if he -could have understood, that from the beginning he would have forgiven -me--the man who hunted him to his death. If by any merciful chance -_you_ can do that, Peter--if you can find it in your heart to let -him remain my father and you my brother----" One of his hands found -Peter's, clasping it tightly, and the other crept to Donald's face, -where it lay cold and lifeless on its pillow. "In God's name say you -forgive me!" he whispered. - -In answer Peter's fingers returned the pressure of Carter's hand and a -sob broke on the man-hunter's lips. - -After a moment of silence he said: "It was the terrible cold and -exposure of that night in which he was hunting for you. It reached his -lungs. Until yesterday I was not afraid. Then the change came--swiftly. -He died this morning, Peter, in _your_ arms, and the last word on his -lips was _your_ name--and Mona's." - -A long time there was stillness in the cabin as the two men knelt -beside their dead. - - - - -CHAPTER XXII - - -In the long days and weeks which followed Peter's return to the cabin -and the death of his father a change which seemed to him a little -short of a miracle came over the man-hunter. The pitiless Carter, the -human ferret, whose years of duty had never been tempered with mercy -or conscience, was gone, and in his place was a new Carter, dragging -himself a little at a time out of the paths of tragedy and misery which -he had followed for so long. - -Through those years Peter knew that Carter had been a Nemesis and -a destroyer. He had not known pity, but only the grim exultation -of achievement. Women, love, the extenuation of circumstance, even -motherhood in its most beautiful sacrifice, had not stayed his hand -when once the law had set him like a hound upon the scent of his -victim. He had broken men and women. He had opened doors of blackness -and despair to a hundred human souls. Yet the law had been always at -his back, urging him on and exulting in his triumphs; he had committed -no crime, no sin, and the world had applauded his exploits when -it heard of them, visioning him as a splendid part of that mighty -mechanism of legal force which made peace and good will on earth -possible among men. Yet Carter, in these strange days of his mental and -spiritual transformation, knew differently. - -He knew that he had served too well, and for that reason he hated -himself, and called himself a fiend. It was now, after he had hunted -Peter's father to his death, that his successes began to dig themselves -out of their graves and reappear to him as haunting ghosts. And he -prayed God to keep Peter, of all men, from hating him. - -"I killed your father," he said to him frankly. "I hunted him until his -mind and his body broke down and he died. And in the end he accepted -me as a son, and I loved him. If I had only known! But I didn't, and -my life belongs to you. I give it willingly as the price of a great -mistake." - -And as the sullen winter's end passed Peter found it impossible to hate -Carter. Instead, there grew in him a slow and irresistible feeling of -brotherhood for the man who had trailed them to their hiding-place at -last, and who, in the hour of his deepest grief, had knelt with him -in prayer over the frozen grave of his father. In those moments he -had learned that it was not Carter who was accountable. It was the -system--the law and its inalienable right to strike and kill. - -Now, late in April, they were going home. - -Six hundred miles behind them lay the wilderness of the Pipestone and -the McFarland, where the hunt had ended and the final tragedy had been -enacted. - -Ahead of them, beyond four hundred miles of still deeper forests was -Five Fingers. - -On this night, as they sat in the yellow glow of a birchwood fire which -they had built in the chill of sunset, Carter had drawn a rough map in -the edge of the ash. The somber depths of a moonless night lay like -a curtain of heavy velvet behind him, and against this his thin and -hawk-like face was set so vividly that Peter saw the odd twitch of his -lips as he said: - -"One week for Jackson's Knee, another for the country of Lac St. Joe, -two more for the Height of Land, and then you'll be looking down on -Five Fingers! They'll all be glad to see you, Peter. And Mona----" He -shrugged his shoulders and a little throb came in the pit of his throat -when he spoke of Peter's sweetheart. "God knows a man should be happy -with a girl like her waiting for him at the end of the trail." - -"I've been away two years," replied Peter, for it was always that -thought which kept pounding at his heart. "At times I am afraid of what -may have happened since that night you and Aleck Curry almost got dad -and me in the edge of the burned lands." - -Carter made no sign that he had heard. He was staring into the deep, -red embers of the fire. - -"Your mother was an angel," he said, so quietly and unexpectedly that -his words fell upon Peter almost with the effect of a shock. "In the -last of those days when your father and I were shut up together by -storm and cold in the cabin, and he was accepting me as his son in his -madness, he talked of her almost as if she were alive and we were going -home to her." - -"She has been dead twenty years," said Peter. - -"I know. Dead, and yet living. I can scarcely believe that I hunted -Donald McRae until I drove him mad--for doing a thing which I would -have done had I stood in his shoes that day when he killed a man! It -was justice, Peter. My mother I cannot remember. But _your_ mother he -made very near and real for me in those last days of--I can't call it -his madness!--it was----" - -"Forgetfulness," said Peter. - -Carter bowed his head. "Yes, forgetfulness. Yet some things lived so -vividly--things of the past. He made them live and breathe for me--and -one picture makes me want to kill!--that picture of the little cabin -in the clearing more than twenty years ago--your mother--you in her -arms--Donald McRae's homecoming and the vengeance he dealt out to the -snake who had come to take advantage of his absence. When I see that -vision I want to choke the life out of a human beast I know--Aleck -Curry!" - -Peter made no answer. - -"I can't undo what I've done," Carter went on. "I tracked your father -until his mind broke under the strain, but I can't help that now. It -is over. All I can do in the way of reparation is to help you--you and -Mona Guyon. And between you two--between your happiness and hers--is -one man, a slimy, conscienceless serpent, waiting and watching for -your return." - -"You mean--Aleck Curry?" - -"Yes, Aleck Curry." - -Carter stood up, his tall, catlike form bathed in the fire glow, and -his hard lips were tightly closed as he stared off into the darkness of -the forest. - -"Sounds queer--that word 'conscienceless' coming from me," he mocked -bitterly. "I've never had a conscience or a heart in obeying the word -of the law--but I've never thought bad of a woman in the way Aleck -Curry thinks of Mona Guyon. He would sell his soul, if he had one, to -possess her--even if she came to him for only an hour as the price of -your safety and freedom. And you're going home--_an outlaw_!" - -"By that you mean Curry will hold me in his power when I reach Five -Fingers?" - -"Yes." - -"And will attempt to force from me a price----" - -Peter stood looking straight into Carter's eyes. - -"Yes, partly from you, but mostly from Mona. That is why I've been -holding you back, a drag from the beginning. Curry's uncle has become -a power politically, and Aleck was given a corporalship a year ago. I -would stake my life that he is keeping his secret about you and the -part you played in your father's escape two years ago. The knowledge is -too precious for him to divulge. You assaulted him, almost killed him, -and freed your father; you kept him--an officer of the law--a prisoner -on an island; later you fired upon Curry and me with the rifle which -Simon McQuarrie gave you--and all this means from five to fifteen years -in prison for you, and Curry knows it. The fact that your father was -almost blind, and that his mind had broken down, won't help you. Law -is law, especially in Canada. Our judges and juries go by the code and -not by emotions. And this law, its inviolability, is why Aleck Curry is -a greater menace to you now than all the dangers you have encountered -since you led your father into the north. - -"He is moved entirely by two passions, one his desire for Mona Guyon -and the other his hatred for you. On the night when we almost caught -you both in your escape from Five Fingers he offered me a thousand -dollars and his uncle's influence in getting me a sergeancy if I would -keep the secret of your capture, and turn our prisoners over to him. -It was my humor to let him think he had bought me. And then, in the -dawn of that morning, you filled our boat full of bullets--and got way. -That's the story, Peter. There is no escaping the trap if you return to -Five Fingers. Curry will descend upon you, demand marriage of Mona, or -probably worse--and if she refuses----" - -"She can visit me occasionally in prison," said Peter. - -His face reflected no trace of the white heat that had mounted into -Carter's; he spoke quietly and his hands had lost their clenched -tenseness. For a moment Carter gazed at him in silence. - -"You mean that?" - -"I do. Aleck Curry holds no power over me that can in any way endanger -Mona. If I owe a debt, I am willing to pay it. Neither Mona nor I have -anything that we want to sell, and Aleck Curry has nothing that we want -to buy." - -Carter drew in a deep breath. - -"If you look at it in that way----" - -"There is no other way." - -"But Curry and I are the only two men on earth who can swear that you -have done these things. The smallest restitution I can make to you for -all the wrong I have done your father is to keep my knowledge secret. -Torture could not tear it from me. Now--if we can silence Curry, tie -his tongue, break him----" - -"None of which we can do," interrupted Peter. "He has hated me -since the day we first fought over Mona when we were boys. Only one -thing could stop his vengeance. I would have to kill him, and that -is inconceivable. For my father I would have done that. I had even -prepared myself to kill you, Carter, if such an act became necessary to -save him. But for myself--_no_!" - -Carter thrust out his hand, but as it gripped Peter's he turned his -face away. "You're a lot like your dad," he said. "I see it more every -day. I'm going to bed. Good night!" - -Caution and habit had made the ferret spread his blankets in the pit -of gloom outside the glow of firelight. He disappeared in the darkness -and a moment later Peter heard him as he stretched himself out for the -night. - -But Carter had no idea of sleeping. For days past a thought had been -building itself up slowly in his brain, and tonight he had almost -revealed that thought to Peter. He watched him now, and in the -firelight the drooped figure and pale, sensitive face of the man he had -hunted and whose happiness he had helped to destroy tightened something -at his heart until he found it hard to breathe. He had never loved a -woman, and had never felt the bond of a great friendship for a man, -but for Peter something more than the friendship he had known--a thing -that was very close to a man's love for a man--had begun to possess -him body and soul. In this one warm emotion of his cold and merciless -life Carter felt a deeper thrill than in the hour of his greatest -man-hunting triumph, and as he lay in stillness, strengthening that -thought which was becoming a larger and more definite thing between -Peter and Mona and the tragedy which threatened them, his lips parted -in the grim and humorless smile which in all the years of his service -had made men fear and avoid him. - -And with that smile, deadly and uncompromising, Carter whispered to -himself: "I guess maybe you needn't worry, Peter. I don't think Aleck -Curry and the law are going to get you--not if I can help it." - -With this settled, it was easier for Carter to give himself up to sleep. - -For a long time Peter sat near the fire. The birch logs burned down -into a mass of coals, and as deeper shadows closed in about the camp he -felt himself alone except for the visions which came and went in the -dying embers. With a clearness that brought almost physical pain the -years passed before his eyes, and when they had gone they had taken -with them his boyhood, the father he had worshiped, his dreams and -happiness, leaving behind in the ash of the fire only memories shadowed -with the gloom of tragedy. But calmly and with a courage inspired by -his own grief he was ready to accept what lay ahead of him. The fight, -as a physical thing, was over--and he was going home. On that point his -mind was fixed and no sense of self-preservation could move it. What -was to happen to him when he reached Five Fingers was a matter which -Fate should decide. - -Even in these moments of his decision he felt Mona's nearness and her -protest. If in defense of his father he had become an outlaw, there was -still a wide world in which he could hide, and Mona would come to him. -So the persistent voice of caution whispered to him, and at times that -voice was Mona's. - -Haggard-faced, Peter went to bed, and in the morning it was Carter, -cold and mechanically efficient, who pointed out the same way to him. - -But even as he pressed his reasoning home, Peter observed there was a -still deeper and more mysterious change in his companion. It lay more -in Carter's eyes than in his voice or the unemotional lines of his -face. - -"You've learned how big the woods are," he said. "Go north, into the -Yukon or Alaska. I will see that Mona comes to you--safely." - -Peter shook his head. - -"I've also learned what it means to run from thicket to thicket, -guarding a hunted thing you love. That would be Mona's share--years of -it, until the end. And the end would come sometime. I'd rather pay the -debt--and have free years left to me afterward." - -It was Carter's last effort. From that hour he traveled steadily -homeward with Peter, making no protest against this new code which had -come into his life of giving, instead of taking, a tooth for a tooth -and an eye for an eye. - -The middle of May found them halfway between Lac St. Joe and the Height -of Land, with Five Fingers still a hundred and eighty miles ahead of -them. - -"We'll make it in seven days," said Peter. - -"Unless the melting snows flood the streams," said Carter. - -Spring was breaking gloriously. Scents filled the air. Crushed balsam -and cedar gave out a redolence that was tonic. The poplar buds were -bursting. Birds were returning. On the sides of slopes where the sun -struck warmly the snow was gone, grass sprang up lush green, and -flowers that budded while the earth was still white began to bloom. Sap -dripped from broken limbs, and the whispered breath of a wakening life, -of growing things, and of matehood, hope and happiness, seemed to rise -between the earth and the sky, night and day. - -Both Peter and Carter sensed the thrill of these things, yet neither -felt their joy. The floods held them back, so that at first their -loss was in hours, and then in days. Carter was glad, but he gave no -betrayal of that fact. His face in these last weeks had grown quietly -and splendidly different from the old Carter's. It was cold, deeply -lined, austere, but its sharpness was mellowed and there was no longer -the ferret-like gleam in his eyes or the grim hardness in his lips and -chin. Not a day passed that his hand did not rest on Peter's shoulder -or arm, and in his touch was a gentleness that at times was reflected -in the look of his eyes. But in the secrecy of his own thoughts was a -dread of the day they would arrive at Five Fingers. Dread--and yet not -fear. - -Peter did not reveal his own fears except as they became a part of his -face and eyes in certain moments which a man like Carter could not -fail to observe. These fears were not inspired by visions of personal -danger, for in adjusting his mind to the necessity of paying his debt -to the law he had eliminated the menace of Aleck Curry in so far as it -could possibly affect the future of Mona or himself. - -What he dreaded were the changes which nearly two years might have -brought to Five Fingers, and the evil which Aleck Curry could have -accomplished in that time. Just what outrage his enemy could have -successfully consummated he had no definite idea. Yet the thought -seized upon him at times and held him under a dark and oppressive -apprehension. - -On the last day before crossing the Height of Land Carter spoke of what -he knew to be in Peter's mind. - -"You will find Mona safe and well, and as true as the day you left -her," he said. "And lovelier, too, Peter, for she needed these two -years to round out her glorious womanhood. I'm not worrying about her. -I'm putting all my faith in another gamble." - -"And that?" - -Carter gave his thin shoulders a suggestive shrug. - -"Has it occurred to you how nice it will be if--in these two years of -change you have anticipated--something has happened to Curry? Death, -for instance?" - -Peter looked at his companion to see if he was joking. Carter's face -was set and unsmiling. - -"Why not?" he argued. "Aleck, although a brother of the Devil, isn't -calamity-proof. With him under six feet of good, honest dirt, or -mysteriously missing, or kicked out of the force by an authority -greater than his uncle--you would be a free man, and Father Albanel -could ring the wedding bell the day you reach Five Fingers. Maybe it's -only a dream I've had--but I seem to see Aleck Curry safely out of your -way, now or very soon. If he has tried to take advantage of Mona Guyon -during your absence----" - -"Simon McQuarrie or Pierre Gourdon would kill him!" - -"Exactly!" And Carter lighted his pipe and said no more, nor did he -raise his eyes to see the strained look which he knew was in Peter's -face. - -That night they slept on the northward slope of the ridge that -separated the waterways of a continent. - -Two days later, on the first of June, they crossed the southern line of -rail and camped in the deep wilderness between it and Lake Superior. - -Carter made his bed with more than usual care. - -"Our last night," he said. "Tomorrow we should pass the high ridge -country before dark and reach Five Fingers in the early light of the -moon. Are you a little excited?" - -"I should like to go on," said Peter. - -Carter smiled a bit wistfully. Now and then this flash of gentleness -had crept into his face of late. "I'd be willing to give up the rest of -my life if for a few hours I could have someone waiting for me as Mona -Guyon is waiting for you," he answered in a low voice. "Strange that -I've let all the years go by without thinking of that, isn't it? But -I'm thinking now. And I'm sorry--for a lot of things." - -"You say you are going to resign from the police as soon as you -can," said Peter, looking into the darkness that lay between him and -home. "When you do that--come to Five Fingers. Simon McQuarrie and -Pierre Gourdon and Joe and Father Albanel and all the others will -make it home for you. And Mona and Marie Antoinette and Josette will -love you because you were four-square and helped _us_. And after -that--somewhere--maybe at Five Fingers--there will be a girl----" - -A cough came from the gloom behind Peter, a thick and husky cough -as if Carter were choking something back that was in his throat. -"One of the few things I remember from years ago is a song called -'The City Four-Square,'" he said. "And when you, of all men, call me -four-square--why----" Darkness hid his face. "Good night, Peter!" - -"Good night," said Peter. - - - - -CHAPTER XXIII - - -Carter, as usual, had made his bed in deep shadow, and there after -a time he slept. The moon rose, but still the shadow enveloped him, -while Peter lay in a glow of light when the man-hunter roused himself. -He looked at his watch and found the hour a little after midnight. A -second time he slept, and a second time he awakened, and thick darkness -had come in place of the moonglow. This he knew to be the dark prelude -to dawn, and he rose out of his blanket and crept cautiously away from -the camp, moving a foot at a time and making no sound. In a quarter of -an hour darkness and distance had swallowed him. He waited then. Dawn -broke first over the tree-tops and filtered down softly and swiftly -into the lower depths of the forest until Carter could see to travel. -He lighted a last match to look at his watch and compass and struck due -south. - -He traveled fast, free of pack and gun. Dawn grew into the grayer -softness of day. Peter would be awakening now, he thought, or very -soon. In an hour, or two at the most, he would know he had been -tricked. Even with his advantage Carter sensed the thrill of an -impending race and the tragedy of it, if he should lose. Peter was -swift and sure in the woods and it was a long way to Five Fingers. - -High up in the sky a fleet of white clouds took on a crimson flush. The -sun rose, and it found Carter's face settling into the hard and grim -lines of the hunter whose game had so frequently been the lives of men. -In a small leather pouch he had stored some food, and a part of this he -ate as he traveled. He lost no time in seeking log and driftwood dams -to pave his way over streams but plunged waist-deep into water that -was still cold with the chill of snow and ice. It was noon before he -stopped to rest and eat what was left of the food in the leather pouch. - -A second time a miracle of change swept over him, and in his face, his -eyes and the lithe swiftness with which he moved he was the ferret -again, hot on the trail of game. Late in the afternoon he felt the cool -breath of Lake Superior in his face. The sun sank lower. Dusk came. In -the beginning of that dusk he emerged from the last rim of the forest -and stood with the water of the big inland sea moaning under the dark -cliffs at his feet. - -A sense of exultation and of triumph swept over him. It was something -to have mastered the wilderness in this way and to have come out within -half a dozen miles of Five Fingers. Peter could not beat that, even in -this country which was his own. - -Thickening darkness made these last miles more difficult and for two -hours Carter progressed slowly. The sky was beautifully clear, but -rocks and slides and ragged cracks and pits at the cliff edge made his -feet wary, and countless stars only served to deepen their shadows. -When the moon came up he had reached the huge cliff whose sheer walls -rose two hundred feet above the sea, less than half a mile from Five -Fingers. - -A last time he sat down, and with a strange smile on his thin lips -watched the full moon as it rose swiftly over the forests, as if -eager to reach its higher and more permanent place in the arch of the -heavens. He was tired and wet and his clothes were torn. Until now, -when the settlement was only a step ahead, he had not realized how -exhausted he was or what a fight he had gone through. Surely he had -beaten Peter by many miles and could afford to rest for a little while -before finishing his task! - -His eyes closed in restful stillness. In half a dozen minutes he could -have slept, but each time that his body wavered on the rock where he -sat he forced himself into rigid wakefulness. The temptation persisted, -and at last he gave himself five minutes and slept thirty. - -The rattle of a stone roused him, and he gathered himself up, blinking -at the moon. Then he heard iron nails scraping on rock. Instantly he -was wide awake. Someone was advancing along the face of the cliff from -the direction of Five Fingers. He could see first the shadow of that -person, growing in the illusive light mist of moon and stars. It was -big and grotesque and the tread of its substance was slow and heavy. -He heard a cough which was as unpleasantly heavy as the tread, and -a few steps more brought the advancing figure to the little plateau -of rock where he sat. Not until then did he rise. The other stopped. -The moon laughed down into their faces. The stars seemed to send upon -them a more brilliant light. A dozen paces separated them. Then, -uncertainly, they shortened it to half the distance. Carter's heart -gave a great throb. He would not have to go down to Five Fingers now, -_for this was his man_! - -"Curry!" he greeted. - -The other stared, half disbelieving. "Is that you--Carter?" he gasped. -He advanced again, peering into the other's face. "By Heaven, _it is_!" - -Carter was very white and thin and strange-looking in the moonlight, -and Aleck Curry was heavy and huge, even to his neck and face. He -thrust out a hand, but Carter did not touch it. - -"Yes, it's me," he said, in a voice cold as ice. "Queer why you should -be coming this way, Curry. I was going down there to find you." - -Aleck's eyes pierced the blanket of moonlight behind him. "What luck?" -he asked. His voice thrilled with nervous eagerness. He bent his big -shoulders toward Carter, looking into his face, his thick lips parted -and his narrow eyes gleaming anxiously as he tried to read an answer -before words came. "Any?" - -Carter's slowness was an insult, and with that insult his eyes and lips -were smiling. - -"Yes, I've had luck," he said, when the tenseness of the other's -silence seemed about to break. "Donald McRae is dead, and Peter is back -there--my prisoner!" - - * * * * * - -Half an hour later, down in Five Fingers, the bell over the little log -church rang out sweetly and softly the good news that Father Albanel -had come in from his monthly trip into the farther wilderness, and that -services would be held tomorrow, which was Sunday. In the stillness -of the night the music of the bell carried far through the forests, -creeping in and out and high above the hidden places, bearing with it -the peace and gentleness of benediction and prayer to all things. - -Peter heard it, far back in the hollows between the ridges, and he -paused to offer his gratitude to God for this voice that was welcoming -him home. - -And at the edge of the cliff where the moonlight and the starlight made -a vivid arena of the table of rock its message seemed to beat with the -clearness of a silvery drum. Then it stopped. Its echoes melted away, -and the two men who had heard it there remained unchanged. - -Carter seemed straighter and harder, his face more like carven stone. -But he was ready. And Aleck Curry was like a huge gorilla gathering -himself for a leap. - -"Carter--if you mean that--I'll kill you!" he said in a voice that was -thick with passion. - -"I mean it," replied Carter, biting his words short. "I've taken the -trouble to tell you the whole story. But you can't understand and -you never will. You're a snake. You're a traitor to both justice and -the law. You think your power over Peter will give you vengeance and -something from Mona. But it won't. And I warn you again that if you -try to use your knowledge, if you offer Peter as a price to Mona, if -you give him up to the law when she strikes you in the face--as she -will!--then I shall go to the highest authorities and strip you to the -skin. The truth will blast you. I will tell how you offered me bribes, -and then threatened; I will tell of your affair in the home of Jacques -Gautier and expose the horrible trail you have left wherever your slimy -soul has gone. I shall investigate the death of the young Indian girl -on the Arrowhead. I----" - -He did not finish. Curry, the man who had waited, the fiend who had -kept the fires of hatred and passion burning until they were madness, -saw more than the threatened ruin for himself. Reputation, family, -his place in the service meant nothing to him. What he saw now in the -white and almost deathlike face and gleaming eyes of the Ferret was the -end of the dream he had built up--the end not only of his power over -Peter but of his last chance to possess Mona. If Carter carried out -his threat, if he told the story of Gautier's wife and laid naked the -truth of the Indian girl's death on the Arrowhead--then all that he -might say against Peter would be discounted in the eyes of the law, and -punishment would fall upon himself. - -But he was not thinking of this punishment. At times the evil mind -in his heavy head worked with amazing swiftness--and in this last -moment of Carter's threat and defiance he saw the yawning abyss of the -cliff behind the Ferret, and its overwhelming temptation. With Carter -down there, dead, and Peter walking straight into the trap at Five -Fingers, his own power and triumph would be more complete than he had -ever dreamed it could be--_for he would make Peter also the Ferret's -murderer_! - -The moon revealed the monstrous thought that leaped like flame into his -face, and it was then Carter cut his words short to meet the avalanche -of flesh and fury that descended upon him. - -Swift as a flash he sensed Curry's intention of throwing him over the -cliff, and twined his arms about his enemy's neck as they crashed upon -the rock. For a moment after that a great shadow of fear darkened the -Ferret's soul. A hundred times in their associations on the trail he -had witnessed the tests and measured the possibilities of Aleck's huge -body and herculean strength. And now he was at death grips with it. -That day he had seen a wood-mouse in the fangs of a weasel, and he was -the wood-mouse now. And then he thought of Peter--of Peter and Mona and -the battle at the pool two years ago when they had beaten this great -hulk of a man. Fear went out of him. His biggest thrill in life was in -the main chance against death. And this was the biggest of all! - -A queer thought shot into his head, a surging back of his old pride. He -was not the wood-mouse, nor was he the weasel. He was the _ferret_, and -Aleck Curry was an unknown beast, ponderous and mighty, but with that -vulnerable spot which the ferret always found in its prey. And this -time Carter knew he was fighting for more than himself. He was fighting -for a man who was dead, and whose spirit was there on the rock watching -them. He was fighting for Peter. And he was fighting for a woman. - -His thin arms and legs fastened themselves about Aleck like things made -of wire steel instead of flesh and bone. Over and over they rolled, -twisting, bending, breaking, heads and faces gouging on the rocks, and -always Carter's quickness made up for the other's weight and strength. - -Their breath came in panting gasps as the nails in their boots struck -fire from the rock. A moan of anguish came from Curry when Carter got -the terrible thumb gouge in his eye, and a gasp of agony from the -Ferret when Aleck bent his head back until his neck nearly broke. There -was something merciless and horrible in the struggle. - -A little cloud ran under the face of the moon. It was followed by -a larger and darker one, as if spirit hands were drawing a curtain -between it and the tragedy on the rock. The light of the stars seemed -to grow dimmer, as if they, too, shrank from this thing that was -happening between the sea and the sky. And over the edge of the cliff -came a wailing sob of wind that was already beginning to croon its -death song for the victim. Minutes were hours. Gasps, chokings, blows -and the panting of breaths were the ticking of the seconds. Moments of -stillness, when the two lay crumpled and twisted as if they had died -together, were like eternities. And foot by foot they had rolled until -they were close to the edge of the cliff. - -Then it was that a shudder of deeper horror seemed to creep through the -night. A black cloud swept under the moon, hiding entirely what was -happening at the cliff's edge, and this cloud moved away with appalling -slowness. When the moon looked out again one object remained where -there had been two. For a long time it lay crumpled there, sobbing for -breath. Then it crawled away slowly, dragging itself painfully over the -rock, and disappeared at last into the thick growth of the burned-over -lands which reached far to the north. - - * * * * * - -Under that same moon, hours later, Peter came to the edge of Five -Fingers. Out of the sky all sign of cloud was gone and the stars glowed -in radiant constellations. Peter knew that it was midnight, and as he -looked down from the crest of the slope, where he had first walked hand -in hand with Mona when he was a boy, a strange and gentle silence rose -up from the bottom-lands to greet him. Five Fingers was asleep. He -could see no light and at first he heard no sound. Then came to him -the old familiar tinkle of silver bells on distant cattle, and the soft -murmur of the sea that was never quite still where it ran in and out -among the rocks of the Pit at the end of Middle Finger Inlet. - -For a space he stood looking down where the dark shadows of the cabins -lay in a great pool of mellow light that was like a gossamer mist of -silver and gold. His heart beat fast, so fast that he clutched a hand -at his breast and swallowed hard to get his breath. Down there, within -sound of his voice, was Mona--and all at once his manhood seemed to -leave him and he wanted to shout wildly through his hands like a boy, -calling her name, rousing her from sleep, shrieking at the top of his -voice that he had come back. A sort of thrilling madness possessed him, -but of all his desire only a choking sob rose in his throat. - -He walked down the slope and he saw Pierre Gourdon's home among the -scattered cabins. It was there he would find Mona, if---- - -His heart skipped a beat. If anything had happened, -_anything_--sickness--accident--if she had gone away! Two years was a -long time. Two years might have brought--a change. - -His feet seemed to stumble, and then suddenly he stopped, and a cry -came to his lips. For he had come to the smooth little patch of green -meadow where Mona had made the men of Five Fingers bury the scores -of marauding porcupines they killed each year, and he saw here and -there freshly made little mounds of soil. Near one of these, which -was scarcely dried by a day's sun, was a spade. Eagerly he seized -it in his hands. It was _their_ spade, with its broken edge and the -iron rod handle which Simon had put on it to replace the wooden one -which porcupines had eaten away. Mona was in Five Fingers! She was -alive--well--sleeping in her little room where he had visioned her at -prayer every night of his life! - -He took off his pack and dropped it near the freshly made mound. Then -he went on, and stopped under Mona's window. - -It was partly open. He could hear the soft flutter of a curtain in the -breath of wind that came up from the shore. Almost afraid to break the -stillness he called her name in a low voice. - -"_Mona!_" - -The curtain fluttered back at him. It seemed to be laughing at him, -seemed to be signaling to him like a hand from the window. - -Then he saw on their nails against the log wall the long bamboo poles -which Pierre Gourdon used in his fishing. A hundred times when he had -come in from the woods late at night he had tapped at Mona's window -with one of these poles, and she had thrust out her head to blow him -down a kiss and say good night. And now, with two hearts seeming to -beat in his breast in place of one, he seized one of the poles and -gently tapped the old signal on the window-pane. And all at once -the curtain ceased its fluttering and he could hear the two hearts -pounding mightily against his ribs. - -He tapped again--_tap-tap-tappety-tap!_ and stepped back into the deep -shadow that hung around the edge of the Gourdon cabin in a heavy fringe. - -Someone came to the window. He knew it--yet he could not see straight -up above his head. He held himself back, waiting for some response to -his signal. In a moment he would step out in the moonlight, and then---- - -He heard the curtain fluttering again. Sound came from her room. It -continued for a few moments, and ceased with the quiet opening of -a door. Then he heard footsteps, quick, light, almost frightened -footsteps, and a slim figure came around the end of Pierre Gourdon's -cabin and stood white-faced and trembling in the moonlight. - -It was Mona--Mona as he had left her an hour ago--yesterday--two -years ago--unchanged--except that she seemed taller to him, more -beautiful. She had thrown a long cloak about her and he could see her -hand clutching it at the throat as her wide eyes strained to solve the -mystery which the misty chaos of the moonlight was hiding from her. -For a space he seemed powerless to move. Then he tried to speak as he -revealed himself, ragged and torn and bronzed to Indian darkness by his -long fight through the wilderness, but it was only an incoherent cry -that stumbled on his lips. Mona saw him. For an instant she swayed -like a tall flower, with the whiteness of lily petals in her face as -he went to her. And then she gave a cry that even Pierre Gourdon might -have heard if he had not slept so deeply--and Peter's arms closed about -her. - -A minute later she held back his face with her two hands. Her eyes were -filled with the glory of the stars and her lips were red with the wild, -sweet passion of their kisses. Slowly a shadow came, and with it an -unutterable tenderness in the words which she whispered to him: - -"Peter, _I knew_. Carter sent me word--about your father--and _you_----" - -She drew his head down until she was holding it against her breast. Her -heart beat against his cheek. Her lips kissed his hair. - -"Only you--you and God--know how sorry I am," she whispered. - -And Peter felt once more like the small boy in the edge of the forest -years ago, when Mona had come to him in the dusk of evening to mend -his broken heart. For in these first moments of his homecoming it -was Mona--again--who thought first of his grief, and not of her own -happiness; and holding his head close, pressing his rough cheek in the -palm of her soft hand, she told him how Carter had sent word to her -all the way down through the wilderness, and how she had kept Carter's -message to herself--as he had asked her to do--and had waited night and -day for his coming with prayers of gratitude in her heart, and sorrow -for him. - -"And Carter promised to bring you to me," she whispered, "because he -said that in the end he had learned to love your father--and you." - - - - -CHAPTER XXIV - - -Where the shadow of Pierre Gourdon's cabin fell deepest a man had -dragged himself and lay like a dark and lifeless blot. Since Peter had -tapped at the window this man had scarcely moved, except to breathe and -change his position a little as he watched the lovers out in the light -of the moon and stars. They were very near to him, so near he might -have touched them with a pole less than the length of that which Peter -had used. And he heard the girl speak of Carter, and of what Carter had -done. - -It was then he drew himself slowly away, moving with the stealth and -caution of one to whom freedom from discovery meant a great deal. Not -until the cabin was fully between him and those he had spied upon did -he rise to his feet. This movement was slow and brought a gasp of -pain from him. He did not stand straight. His shoulders were bent. He -was hatless and ragged and his arms and breast were half stripped of -clothing. In his hand he carried a heavy stick, and with this stick he -helped himself to walk as he struck out in the moonlight. - -He tried to hurry, but at best his progress was not fast, and to make -up for lack of speed he kept the cabin between him and the two from -whom he was running away. In the shadow of a second cabin he stopped -to rest, breathing deeply, as if what he had accomplished had cost him -great effort. One at a time he passed the dwellings in the settlement -and made his way across the green open to the little log church. Here -he rested for a longer period, and in these moments he noted with -satisfaction that trees threw a deep and continuous shadow between him -and the edge of the forest. - -The door of Father Albanel's church was never locked and after a little -he opened it and entered. But he bolted it carefully behind him. Then -he groped his way through the moonlit seats and opened a window. After -that he found the rope which rang the bell. - -Never in its history had Five Fingers roused itself to the ringing of -the bell as it was rung tonight. It was not the Sabbath message. It was -not Father Albanel's sweet, slow tolling of peace on earth and good -will toward men, nor was it the sad and slumberous requiem for the -dead. It was, instead, a wild exultation, an almost savage triumph, a -pealing alarm that called upon every soul in the settlement to rise up -in instant wakefulness. It filled the forest until its notes beat one -upon another and the hills and ridges caught them up and flung them -back as they had never done before. Men rose out of their sleep and -stumbled for matches; a light appeared here, another there, and still -the bell continued to ring until not a cabin in Five Fingers remained -in darkness. - -Not until then did the man who had rung the bell drop from the window -of the little church and steal through the shadows of the trees into -the forest. There he did not pause but went on with the slowness of -either age or exhaustion until he was swallowed in the deeper secrecy -of the woods. - -Pierre Gourdon came first out into the night, bareheaded and in his -shirt-sleeves, and in front of his cabin he found Mona ahead of him -with her long hair streaming down her back and a strange man's arms -tightly about her. Almost fiercely he tore them apart--and then he saw -it was Peter. - -Jame Clamart came running up a moment later, and it was Jame who first -sent the news abroad in a shout which, next to the mad ringing of the -bell, was the wildest thing ever heard in Five Fingers between the hour -of midnight and one o'clock in the morning. - -"Peter McRae has come back!" he yelled. "Peter -McRae--_has_--_come_--_back_!" - -Swifter almost than men could travel word passed that this was the -reason for the ringing of the bell--Peter McRae had come home after two -years, and Father Albanel, or some other, had wakened them from their -sleep to welcome him. - -Pierre's women were first to take Peter away from Mona--Josette, -coming first, and then Marie Antoinette. And after them came Adette -Clamart. When she saw Peter she gave a little screech and threw her -arms around his neck, kissing him before her husband and all, and then -she fell upon Mona and cried hard in her gladness. The little group -grew larger; voices, glad laughter, tremulous excitement filled the -air, but suddenly a hush fell as a tall and gaunt-faced figure stalked -up through the silvery haze of the night and old Simon McQuarrie -shouldered his way among them. - -He said nothing when he came face to face with Peter, but for a moment -held him off at arm's length, his stern face working in a strange sort -of way, and then, as Mona crept to his side, he clasped them both in -his arms and stood for a few moments with his head bowed close down to -theirs. - -And then a whisper of gladness ran among the women, for Father Albanel -stood beside Mona and Peter and the little gray missioner's face was -streaming with tears of happiness as he, too, put his arms gently about -them. - -"It was Father Albanel who rang the bell," the women whispered softly -among themselves. - -And to this day the people of Five Fingers believe that he did. - -But on this night, Father Albanel was neither crooked nor bent, nor did -he walk with the aid of a stick. - - * * * * * - -To Peter it was like a dream, a glorious dream of friendship and of a -love that lifted his soul above all thought of fear and tragedy, and -not until he was alone with Simon in the cabin which had been his home -for so many years before he went away with his father did he think of -Aleck Curry or of the payment he had promised himself to be ready to -make to the law. But the thing which happiness had held back came out -now. - -The old Scotchman heard Peter's story from the night of the flight -almost two years ago, when the forests were burning in the great fire -about Five Fingers. And then Peter learned, in turn, that Aleck Curry -had built himself a shack in the edge of the timber and was quite -frequently at Five Fingers, usually remaining for a week or two at a -time. He was there now. That very evening Simon had met him face to -face in company with one of the half-dozen government surveyors who for -a year or more had been working up and down the shore. He was surprised -that the ringing of the bell and the excitement had not brought Curry -upon the scene. Probably he was with the surveyors at their camp. -Tomorrow he would show up. - -"And you haven't any idea what became of Carter?" Simon asked. - -Peter shook his head. "He simply disappeared. I cannot guess why. Maybe -he, too, will show up tomorrow." - -"Peter, who rang the bell?" - -Peter flushed under his darkened skin. "I think Father Albanel saw Mona -and me in the moonlight. He always loved to wander about late at night, -when the moon was bright." - -Simon's gaunt face broke into a strange smile. - -"It wasn't Father Albanel who rang the bell," he said. - -"No?" Peter looked at him sharply. "Then it was you, Simon! You saw us?" - -"No. I was asleep--sound asleep. But I know who rang the bell. It was -Carter!" - -A little thrill leaped through Peter. "It is impossible. Carter would -not have run away from me for _that_. Besides----" - -He did not finish, for Simon had risen and was looking out through the -window in a way that puzzled him. - -"I'm going down to the church," he said. "And I'm going the back way, -along the edge of the woods, so that no one will see me. Want to go?" - -They stole forth through the moonlight into the shadows of the forest. -When they came to the church Simon tried the door. - -"Locked!" he said. "That is unusual!" - -A few seconds later they stood at the open window. Through this they -climbed and one after another the Scotchman lighted a dozen matches -until they knew that no one could have remained hidden inside. Simon -then closed the window and led the way out through the door, leaving it -unlocked. - -"Careless of him," he grunted. "We'll leave the place just as he found -it. Fewer questions will be asked." - -He did not speak again until they were once more in their own cabin. -Peter, feeling the completeness of his exhaustion now, was about -to ascend the ladder to his own bed when Simon rested a hand on his -shoulder. - -"Boy," he whispered, "whatever happens after this, forget that Carter -came down from the north with you and that he ran away from you back -there on the trail. Understand, laddie? _Forget it!_ Lie about it if -you have to. For I believe it was Carter who rang that bell tonight, -and if he did, and it should so turn out that something has happened -to Aleck Curry--why--you see--it might be a suspicious circumstance, -pointing to a thing which you and I, with God's blessing on us, will -always know could never be true!" - -Even these words, making significantly clear the suspicion which was -in Simon's mind, could not keep Peter from thinking of Mona, and of -Mona alone, when he went to bed. But he awoke with the first crowing -of Simon McQuarrie's roosters, three hours later. He was going to take -breakfast with Mona, he told Simon, and as he was an appalling mess he -needed a lot of time to prepare for it. For two hours he scrubbed and -shaved and shampooed and manicured himself, and then dressed in the -best outfit he had left behind him two years ago. - -It was only a quarter of six when he finished, but an hour before, -he had seen a light in Mona's room and now smoke was rising from the -chimney over Josette Gourdon's kitchen. - -He went out the back way, as he and Simon had gone a few hours earlier, -and was sure he had succeeded in coming up behind Pierre's cabin -without giving any evidence of himself. But Mona's eyes were bright and -her cheeks were flushed as he stood very still for a few moments in the -doorway, though her back was toward him, and she seemed to be absorbed -in a number of purposeless little details at the kitchen table. Peter -made no sound, unless the pounding of his heart could be called that. - -There was a change after all--a change which the silvery radiance of -the moon had veiled from him last night. Mona _was_ taller, and--even -as he was looking at her now, without clearly seeing her face--she -was so much lovelier than when he had left Five Fingers that he was a -little frightened. Carter was right. It had taken those two years to -make her even more beautiful than Marie Antoinette. And he continued to -stand where he was, thinking himself undiscovered, worshiping her in -silence from the heels of her little feet to the top of her lustrous -head as if a word or a movement from him would destroy the transcendent -reality of it all. - -Mona's cheeks grew pinker and her eyes brighter. - -Then she turned upon him so suddenly and with such an unexpected -knowledge of his presence filling her eyes with laughter and joy that -in one swift moment Peter had her in his arms, and kissed her so wildly -on eyes and lips and hair that she was compelled to hide her face -against his breast to get breath. - -"You are--breaking me," she protested. "You have grown so strong, -Peter. And you are tumbling my hair down that I put up with so much -care, because this is Sunday!" - -She leaned back and shook her head so that the loosened coils of her -hair flooded down about her shoulders in a radiant protest to her words. - -"The two happiest days of my life have been Sundays," he said, holding -her more gently. - -"This is one, Peter?" - -"Yes." - -"And the other?" she asked, as if she had forgotten it entirely. - -"Was that first day you took me to church, when I thought you were a -little white angel, and sang with you, and dared to take a tress of -your hair in my fingers when I thought you didn't know it." - -"And since that day I've loved you, Peter. Yes, I loved you in that -very hour when you bit Aleck Curry's ear!" - -He filled his hands with the loosened masses of her hair, crushing the -soft coils between his fingers. - -"_Kiss me._" - -"Sh-h!" She put a finger to his lips. "It is Aunt Josette! I hear her -coming! I must run up the back way and fix my hair!" - -"It is unthoughtful of Aunt Josette----" - -"But she is coming!" - -"_Kiss me!_" - -She pressed her warm lips to his, and he let her go. Scarcely had she -escaped when Josette's light footsteps sounded in the dining-room, and -a moment later she appeared in the kitchen. Peter was stirring pancake -batter. - -"Mona gave me this job," he tried to explain. "She'll be back in a -minute." - -Josette smiled at him sweetly, and then quite innocently picked up -several hairpins from the floor. "How careless of me to lose these!" -she exclaimed, but there was a roguish light in her dark eyes which did -not quite escape Peter as she tucked the pins in her own thick tresses. - -To Peter it was as if he had gone away yesterday, and returned today. -Pierre came in yawning, and found him helping with the breakfast. When -Mona reappeared her hair was in a long braid. Never had he seen such -lovely, velvety softness in her eyes or such sweet color in her face. - -Josette, with a sly signal to Pierre, maneuvered them to the open door. -"When we are ready for you children we'll call you," she said. - -They walked toward the forest. And there, in the edge of the beautiful -green meadow which had always been hallowed as their playground, he saw -for the first time a new cabin nearly finished. Mona was looking at -him. She saw the surprise and then the cloud that gathered in his face. -She took his hand, and her fingers clung to his. - -"You don't like it?" she asked. - -"It is a nice cabin, but----" - -He did not know how to finish. She looked down, very demurely, so that -he could not see her eyes for the long lashes that hid them. - -"It is my cabin." - -"_Yours!_" - -"Yes, mine. Maybe I shouldn't tell you the secret, Peter, but I'm going -to be married." - -It seemed impossible that a human heart could rise up and choke one as -quickly as Peter's did. - -Mona was still looking at the ground. - -"You see, Carter told me in his letter to confide in Simon. And when -Simon knew you were coming, and would of course have to marry me very -soon, we planned this cabin together and Simon is going to give it to -me as a wedding present. Then I'm going to let you live in it. Don't -you think I'm nice?" - -Peter stopped. Mona looked up, frightened. - -"Don't, Peter--don't!" she entreated. "Aunt Josette is looking, and -Uncle Pierre will see you, and all the rest of Five Fingers----" - -But all the rest of the world could not have stopped Peter. He crumpled -her in his arms. - - * * * * * - -That day was one in which Peter could not bring himself to reveal to -Mona the uncertainty which had been a part of his homecoming. Her -happiness completely possessed him, and as hour after hour passed he -found himself further than at the beginning from carrying out his -resolution to tell her the price which he fully expected the law would -ask of him. That he could expect no mercy from Aleck Curry, he assured -himself through Simon. But he did not see Aleck, nor did he mention him -to Mona. She sensed no danger. No one in Five Fingers could guess at -the menace which hung over him, for he believed that even Simon did not -know of that first morning of his father's flight when he had committed -the fatal sin of firing upon the law. From the fact that Aleck had kept -this crime a secret he realized the nearness and deadliness of the trap -which would soon spring upon him. - -But Aleck did not appear. It was not until after morning service in -the little church that Mona mentioned him quite casually. He was -bigger and coarser and more detestable than ever, she told Peter. He -had tried to pay some attention to her, and she knew that he and Simon -had frequently had words. It was through his uncle, she said, that he -had been given this lazy assignment, covering the country between the -railroad settlements and Five Fingers. - -In the afternoon Peter met Simon alone. - -The lines in the old Scotchman's face seemed to have grown deeper since -morning. They were like little creases cut in stone. - -"I have been over to the surveyors' camp," he said. "Curry hasn't been -there since yesterday morning. And he didn't sleep in his bed last -night." - -"He has gone to the settlements," suggested Peter. - -"His pack and traveling dunnage are in his shack," answered Simon. "He -hasn't gone to the settlements." Simon did not once let his eyes meet -Peter's squarely. He spoke even carelessly as he looked away. "You -haven't forgotten what I told you about Carter?" - -"No." - -"That is well. I wouldn't be surprised if something happened to Curry -last night. I saw him dead drunk at dusk--starting out alone along the -cliff to the west. I told him to come back, and he cursed me." - -Simon McQuarrie could not hide a lie. And Peter knew he was lying. - -A little later Simon struck off into the woods to the east and did -not return until after dark. At bedtime Peter asked if he had found -anything of interest. - -"Only a hungry man. I happened to have a lunch in my pocket. The poor -devil was so weak he was hobbling along with a stick." - -"Who was he?" - -"I didn't ask his name." Simon turned his back to Peter as he prepared -for bed. "Queer I didn't ask his name--but I didn't." - -On the third day after this night Five Fingers received a stupendous -shock. Simon McQuarrie and Father Albanel, in seeking lost net buoys -under the Big Cliff, had found the body of a dead man. It was Aleck -Curry. He was terribly broken and almost unrecognizable by the pounding -of his body in the surf that washed in and out among the rocks. The -story of his end was quite clear. He had evidently stumbled over -the edge of the cliff while drunk, inasmuch as Simon had seen him -staggering in its direction on the night he had disappeared. - -"We'll take him to the nearest railroad settlement and let his friends -have him," Simon said to the men of Five Fingers. - -But to Father Albanel he added, in a voice which others did not hear, -"It would be unpleasant, _mon père_, to have him always in our own -little cemetery where only those we love are at rest." - -And so, on that same day, all that was left of Aleck Curry was borne -northward through the hills and ridges to his people. - -Three weeks later Mona and Peter were married. Five Fingers will never -forget that day. It was in the full glory of June, and the robins and -thrushes were singing outside the little church. In spite of Peter's -protest Mona teased him by insisting that she would not tell him where -she wanted to spend her honeymoon until the little missioner had said -the last words, and they were man and wife. And then, putting her soft -mouth to Peter's ear, she whispered, "I want to stay in the new cabin -which Simon is giving us." - -So there, from the beginning, they found their new happiness, and -Pierre Gourdon and Josette would walk in the twilights of summer -evenings, lovers still, and never grow tired of painting for each other -the beautiful and unforgetable pictures of many years ago when they -had come through the pathless wilderness to make this paradise in which -God, in His great goodness, had made the last of their dreams come true. - - * * * * * - -It was on an afternoon in August that Adette Clamart came to Mona's -home with her cousin, Adele, who had come from the French country of -Quebec to live with her, and announced that a stranger had arrived in -Five Fingers and was talking with Simon in his cabin. - -"Adele met him on the settlement trail," she said. "He carried a basket -of flowers for her, and was so very nice that she has fallen in love -with him. Haven't you, Adele?" - -"He was very stiff and frightened every time I looked at him," replied -Adele, "and I felt sorry for him. But he was nice--yes. And he had--how -do I say it, Adette?--such a strange, stern face, with sadness in -it--and----" - -"Ugh!" shuddered Adette. "He was dangerously hungry, Adele. I know -because Jame gets that way." - -"Whoever he is--_he is coming_!" said Mona, looking through the open -door. - -And so he was, with the old Scotchman on one side of him and Peter on -the other, as if they were pulling him along against his will. And as -they came nearer Mona's heart gave a sudden flutter, and then a great -jump, for this stranger who had carried Adele's flowers was Carter the -man-hunter. - -She ran out to meet him, and though she said only a few trembling words -of welcome a light which Carter saw in her eyes made him draw in a -quick breath of gratitude and joy. - -"The new superintendent of the mill," announced Simon a little -pompously, when Adette and Adele had joined them. "I'm getting lazy and -he is taking my place. Quite a surprise! But we've been planning it a -long time, haven't we, Carter?" And Simon laughed mysteriously. - -Then came a sudden interruption. The bell over the little church began -to ring as it had rung on a certain midnight weeks ago. And this time -it was surely Father Albanel who was tugging at the rope. In his face -was a flush of benevolent joy, and the louder the bell rang the rosier -his cheeks grew, and there alone in the church he laughed like a boy. - -Nudging Carter, whose face had grown strangely fixed and staring, Simon -McQuarrie chuckled softly at his shoulder: "Someone rang the bell like -that on the night Peter came home. And _now_, Carter, it is ringing our -welcome to _you_!" - -Observing Mona a few moments later, Adette wondered what had happened -to make her eyelashes wet with tears. - -Peter understood, and his hand found Mona's and held it tenderly. With -an inspiration born of words which Carter had once said to him about -a girl waiting at the end of the trail, he found the opportunity to -whisper, "Ask Carter to have supper with us, and also _Adele_." - -This Mona did in her own sweet fashion, making sure of Carter first, -and after his acceptance calling upon Adele to lend herself to his -entertainment in a way which gave her no possible excuse for a refusal, -had such a thought come into her mind. Simon looked shrewdly at Mona -and Adette. Then he turned toward the green ridges to the north over -which billowy white clouds were rising. - -"It's going to rain," he said. "I smell it in the air. It will come -tonight." - -"The crops need it," said Peter. - -"And most of all--the flowers," added Adele, looking at Carter. - -"Yes, the flowers--and the woods," he nodded. "It is very dry in the -timber for this season of the year." - -Mona and Peter turned toward their cabin, and Mona's eyes shot a sly -signal to Adette. Jame's wife took firm hold of Simon's arm. "If you -know what is good for you--come with me!" she whispered, with her back -turned to Adele and Carter. - -For a moment Carter stood helplessly. Then he moved to Adele's side and -they followed Mona and Peter. - -"You like flowers, Miss Adele?" - -"I love them, Mr. Carter!" - -As they passed through the door Mona squeezed her husband's hand. - -"It was a wonderful thought, Peter. Do you think you can kiss me very -quickly before they come in?" - -"I am sure that I can," replied Peter--and kissed her. - - -THE END - - - - -TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE: - -Obvious printer errors have been corrected. Otherwise, the author's -original spelling, punctuation and hyphenation have been left intact. - - - - - -End of Project Gutenberg's A Gentleman of Courage, by James Oliver Curwood - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A GENTLEMAN OF COURAGE *** - -***** This file should be named 53885-8.txt or 53885-8.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/3/8/8/53885/ - -Produced by Chris Whitehead, Roger Frank and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This -book was produced from images made available by the -HathiTrust Digital Library.) - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part -of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm -concept and trademark. Project Gutenberg is a registered trademark, -and may not be used if you charge for the eBooks, unless you receive -specific permission. If you do not charge anything for copies of this -eBook, complying with the rules is very easy. You may use this eBook -for nearly any purpose such as creation of derivative works, reports, -performances and research. They may be modified and printed and given -away--you may do practically ANYTHING in the United States with eBooks -not protected by U.S. copyright law. Redistribution is subject to the -trademark license, especially commercial redistribution. - -START: FULL LICENSE - -THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE -PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK - -To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free -distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work -(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project -Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full -Project Gutenberg-tm License available with this file or online at -www.gutenberg.org/license. - -Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works - -1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to -and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property -(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all -the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or -destroy all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your -possession. If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a -Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound -by the terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the -person or entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph -1.E.8. - -1.B. "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark. It may only be -used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who -agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few -things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works -even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See -paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this -agreement and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic works. See paragraph 1.E below. - -1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the -Foundation" or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection -of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual -works in the collection are in the public domain in the United -States. If an individual work is unprotected by copyright law in the -United States and you are located in the United States, we do not -claim a right to prevent you from copying, distributing, performing, -displaying or creating derivative works based on the work as long as -all references to Project Gutenberg are removed. Of course, we hope -that you will support the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting -free access to electronic works by freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm -works in compliance with the terms of this agreement for keeping the -Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with the work. You can easily -comply with the terms of this agreement by keeping this work in the -same format with its attached full Project Gutenberg-tm License when -you share it without charge with others. - -1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern -what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are -in a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, -check the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this -agreement before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, -distributing or creating derivative works based on this work or any -other Project Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no -representations concerning the copyright status of any work in any -country outside the United States. - -1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: - -1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other -immediate access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear -prominently whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work -on which the phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the -phrase "Project Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, -performed, viewed, copied or distributed: - - This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and - most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no - restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it - under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this - eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the - United States, you'll have to check the laws of the country where you - are located before using this ebook. - -1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is -derived from texts not protected by U.S. copyright law (does not -contain a notice indicating that it is posted with permission of the -copyright holder), the work can be copied and distributed to anyone in -the United States without paying any fees or charges. If you are -redistributing or providing access to a work with the phrase "Project -Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the work, you must comply -either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 or -obtain permission for the use of the work and the Project Gutenberg-tm -trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. - -1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted -with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution -must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any -additional terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms -will be linked to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works -posted with the permission of the copyright holder found at the -beginning of this work. - -1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm -License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this -work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm. - -1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this -electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without -prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with -active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project -Gutenberg-tm License. - -1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, -compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including -any word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access -to or distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format -other than "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official -version posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site -(www.gutenberg.org), you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense -to the user, provide a copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means -of obtaining a copy upon request, of the work in its original "Plain -Vanilla ASCII" or other form. Any alternate format must include the -full Project Gutenberg-tm License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. - -1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, -performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works -unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. - -1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing -access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works -provided that - -* You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from - the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method - you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is owed - to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he has - agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the Project - Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments must be paid - within 60 days following each date on which you prepare (or are - legally required to prepare) your periodic tax returns. Royalty - payments should be clearly marked as such and sent to the Project - Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the address specified in - Section 4, "Information about donations to the Project Gutenberg - Literary Archive Foundation." - -* You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies - you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he - does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm - License. You must require such a user to return or destroy all - copies of the works possessed in a physical medium and discontinue - all use of and all access to other copies of Project Gutenberg-tm - works. - -* You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of - any money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the - electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days of - receipt of the work. - -* You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free - distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works. - -1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic work or group of works on different terms than -are set forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing -from both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and The -Project Gutenberg Trademark LLC, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm -trademark. Contact the Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below. - -1.F. - -1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable -effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread -works not protected by U.S. copyright law in creating the Project -Gutenberg-tm collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may -contain "Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate -or corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other -intellectual property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or -other medium, a computer virus, or computer codes that damage or -cannot be read by your equipment. - -1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right -of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project -Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project -Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all -liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal -fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT -LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE -PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH 1.F.3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE -TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE -LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR -INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH -DAMAGE. - -1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a -defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can -receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a -written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you -received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium -with your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you -with the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in -lieu of a refund. If you received the work electronically, the person -or entity providing it to you may choose to give you a second -opportunity to receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If -the second copy is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing -without further opportunities to fix the problem. - -1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth -in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS', WITH NO -OTHER WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT -LIMITED TO WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. - -1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied -warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of -damages. If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement -violates the law of the state applicable to this agreement, the -agreement shall be interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or -limitation permitted by the applicable state law. The invalidity or -unenforceability of any provision of this agreement shall not void the -remaining provisions. - -1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the -trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone -providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in -accordance with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the -production, promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic works, harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, -including legal fees, that arise directly or indirectly from any of -the following which you do or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this -or any Project Gutenberg-tm work, (b) alteration, modification, or -additions or deletions to any Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any -Defect you cause. - -Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm - -Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of -electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of -computers including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It -exists because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations -from people in all walks of life. - -Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the -assistance they need are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's -goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will -remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project -Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure -and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future -generations. To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation and how your efforts and donations can help, see -Sections 3 and 4 and the Foundation information page at -www.gutenberg.org - - - -Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation - -The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit -501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the -state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal -Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification -number is 64-6221541. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent permitted by -U.S. federal laws and your state's laws. - -The Foundation's principal office is in Fairbanks, Alaska, with the -mailing address: PO Box 750175, Fairbanks, AK 99775, but its -volunteers and employees are scattered throughout numerous -locations. Its business office is located at 809 North 1500 West, Salt -Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887. Email contact links and up to -date contact information can be found at the Foundation's web site and -official page at www.gutenberg.org/contact - -For additional contact information: - - Dr. Gregory B. Newby - Chief Executive and Director - gbnewby@pglaf.org - -Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg -Literary Archive Foundation - -Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide -spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of -increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be -freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest -array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations -($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt -status with the IRS. - -The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating -charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United -States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a -considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up -with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations -where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To SEND -DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any particular -state visit www.gutenberg.org/donate - -While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we -have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition -against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who -approach us with offers to donate. - -International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make -any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from -outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. - -Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation -methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other -ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. To -donate, please visit: www.gutenberg.org/donate - -Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works. - -Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project -Gutenberg-tm concept of a library of electronic works that could be -freely shared with anyone. For forty years, he produced and -distributed Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of -volunteer support. - -Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed -editions, all of which are confirmed as not protected by copyright in -the U.S. unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not -necessarily keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper -edition. - -Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search -facility: www.gutenberg.org - -This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, -including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to -subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. - |